


What Happened at N.I.T.E.

by Pandora (paperclipbutterfly)



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Bigotry & Prejudice, Emotional, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Forgiveness, Guidance Counselors, Healing, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Suggestive Themes, Therapy, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2018-10-31 06:06:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 104,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10893282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperclipbutterfly/pseuds/Pandora
Summary: In the aftermath of the Nighthowler Incident and Dawn Bellwether's arrest, Zootopia's political leaders institute free counseling and support services to those suffering from assorted emotional and psychological traumas stemming from the many attacks. The Nighthowler Incident Therapy and Education (N.I.T.E.) sessions are meant to help all mammals--both predators and prey alike--find resolution together as they come to terms with what happened to them and the pain they caused each other. Dr. Melanie Leuca recounts during her own counseling session with her therapist what happened to her and the mammals she served at the latest N.I.T.E. class... and how it stands to change the city's future completely.Zootopia is owned by Disney, yaddy yada... you know the drill.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr tells me that May is Mental Health month, so in that spirit I will post the first small teaser bit of a story I have been batting around for a while. It will likely be a short piece, although it is too early yet to tell. This is very much a work in progress and I anticipate that I will be fiddling with large sections of the work a great deal before posting, but this part I'm fairly happy with so I don't anticipate that it will be modified in any earth shattering way. I hope you all enjoy.

The Nighthowler Incident Therapy and Education sessions were held frequently all over Zootopia in the year following Dawn Bellwether’s indictment. The District Attorney’s office refused to pursue charges against any of the predators affected during the event, and instead instituted a program of free counseling and support services in lieu of jail time for any attackers.

As one might imagine, this position was not popular. The most vocal opponents argued that such an arrangement would not bring closure to the attack victims or their families.

Long after the court case had wrapped up, the city was still bleeding.

One hundred and twenty-nine separate cases plagued Zootopia during the Nighthowler Incident, and while all those turned savage by the toxin had been predatory mammals, not all of their victims had been prey. More than a third of those attacked had also been predators. About half of those had been the same species as their attacker.

Considering that a significant number of predators were on the receiving end of the violence, the counseling sessions were given a specific format. This was perhaps the most controversial part of the program: the refusal to segregate predator and prey species. The support group organizers argued that doing so would only continue to worsen the underlying trauma. There were no “Prey Only” sessions; there were no “Predators Only” sessions. There were only “All Mammals Welcome” sessions. The uproar was tremendous. Many thought that the N.I.T.E. program would end in failure before it had even begun.

But it didn’t.

At first the gatherings were small, maybe a half dozen mammals or so meeting together in the conference room of one or another of the city’s many clinics. Then slowly—so slowly—more and more mammals began to attend. They started to bring their friends, their coworkers, their spouses… sometimes even their children. Animals that no one even knew had been impacted by the Nighthowler Incident came forward in droves. Those who did not fully grasp what had happened gained greater understanding.

Not every session went well. Not every mammal left finding peace or resolution. Not all scars were visible, and not all wounds were fully healed. The ordeal had cut them all deeply, in diverse and profound ways. Sometimes the best that they could hope for at the end was to leave the building with their hackles down.

But the talks were helpful to many, and so they continued. The counselors running the sessions did so on a rotation; however, since all the sessions were done pro bono, few would offer their services more than once.

Except for Dr. Leuca.

“You led another nighthowler education class last week, didn’t you?” Dr. Buckner pushed his glasses up the bridge of his snout as he looked up from the clipboard in his hooves.

Melanie Leuca had led the most N.I.T.E. sessions by far. A giant panda who was not a native-born citizen of Zootopia, she was a favorite among attendees and could always be counted on to mediate any meeting that did not have a volunteer therapist scheduled. She was relatively small for her species, with wide brown eyes and a singsong accent to her soft voice. While she was not a predator, she was sometimes mistaken for one. A powerful bear physique and sharp claws made her appear a threat to prey species, despite the fact that she (and every ancestor before her) just used her pointed fangs to tear up bamboo. She did her best not to let the occasional leery glances taint her view of the city.

She loved the city.

“Yes, Friday,” she said, and shifted herself further forward on the uncomfortably plush couch cushion she was slowly sinking into. “It was one-year anniversary.”

It may be strange to think that a therapist would need to see a therapist, but it wasn’t all that uncommon. Not long after her first session, the panda contacted Dr. Buckner—the reindeer in whose lavish office she was now sitting—to talk with about her experiences during N.I.T.E classes. While Melanie wasn’t new to counseling victims of domestic abuse, assault, and rape, it was often difficult to counsel so many at the same time—in the same room—as their assailants (mammals who were also suffering in their own right). The stories that they shared were often horrifying, and although it was her job to listen and guide them to some semblance of tranquility, some days… some days it was more than even a trained professional could bear without support.

Dr. Buckner scribbled on his clipboard. “Hard to believe it’s been a year. That must have been quite an undertaking. Did you enlist any help?”

“No.”

 _Scribble, scribble._ “Why not?”

Melanie met his eyes and said, “This session was special. An anniversary. Too important to change expectations.”

 _Scribble, ongoing control issues, scribble._ “They expected record turnout for that class, though. Did many mammals attend?”

“Yes, many.” She clasped her paws together and paused for a few moments as she stared at them. “Many came. Many old faces. Many new faces. And one face, not old or new, but… familiar.”

The writing stopped. Dr. Buckner set his pen on the clipboard in his lap and folded his hooves together on top of it.

“Whenever you’re ready.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A former patient drops by the N.I.T.E. session venue early to speak with Dr. Leuca while she is setting up, but what about? Not every path to balance is straight forward or quick… some mammals walk the path to mental balance for longer than they wish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight trigger warning for those who may need it: brief rape mention, no description.

_Kathleen Hoarfrost, Emmitt Otterton… Renato Manchas, for certain…_

Dr. Leuca arrived extra early to set up at the venue chosen for the one-year anniversary N.I.T.E. session. In anticipation of record attendance, they had arranged to reserve the large ballroom at the Palm Hotel, one of Zootopia’s most renowned resorts.

The room was spacious, brightly lit, and had vaulted ceilings high enough to allow a giraffe to stand comfortably. There were sturdy benches at the back to seat the larger mammals—elephants, rhinos, and the like—and neat rows of different sized chairs lined all the way up to the front of the room where Dr. Leuca would be seated. Tiny, rodent sized chairs were set to the side along the walls. Their position was mostly for safety reasons, but also to provide an unobstructed view of the raised stage area where the panda would be talking from. She doubted they would be used at all tonight; to date, there were no reports of any victims smaller than a groundhog.

_Barry DiCaprio, Stephanie Stalkinew, maybe Samuel Wagner…_

Dr. Leuca arranged her own chair and a small table with the rest of her props: a notepad, a textbook with a few marked pages, a small wooden box, and a water pitcher and glass. She regarded the notepad filled with notes and names. She poured herself a drink from the pitcher, sipping thoughtfully as she traced her poor handwriting with her claw and tried to discern what it was she wrote about whom and why.

_I hope Robert LeBoare will not come…_

One of the wide double doors opened and the zebra maître d’ stepped inside, wheeling in front of him a cart with three tiers of light snacks for the soon-to-be-arriving patrons. Two of his staff followed behind him carrying a long, folded table.

“Where did you want the refreshment table set up, miss?” the maître d’ called up to Dr. Leuca.

“On back wall, please,” she replied, and set her glass and notebook aside. “Thank you.” She stepped down off the platform and walked back to oversee the food arrangement.

The zebras worked quickly and in just a few minutes the spread was pleasantly arranged on the long table at the back of the room. Dr. Leuca eyed each plate carefully: a platter of smoked fish atop crusted bread, an assorted tray of cut fruit and cheeses, a tray of vegetables similarly arranged, and a very large bowl of greens and light dressing. Plastic cups and plates were set beside pitchers of water and various juices.

“Everything to your satisfaction, miss?” the maître d’ asked as the panda sniffed along the table’s spread.

Dr. Leuca was pleased with the selected dishes and was about to say so until she came to the large salad. She eyed the greens hard, and turned to the head waiter.

“Is there alfalfa here?” she asked sweetly.

The zebra’s ears swiveled back in surprise. “The House Salad is an arrangement of fresh, delicate greens of the highest quality, including bibb lettuce, dandelion leaves, baby spinach, and alfalfa sprouts and seeds.”

“Not acceptable.” The doctor’s voice still sounded pleasant, but firm. “Please bring new batch. No alfalfa.”

The maître d’ and his two coworkers exchanged uneasy glances. “I’m sorry, miss, this was the dish that was ordered for the event…”

“Rest of dish is fine,” Dr. Leuca assured them. “There are guests with allergies. No alfalfa.”

“This is a public event. How can you know…?”

“New batch, please,” she insisted again. “No alfalfa.”

“It’s a pre-mixed assortment, miss,” the head waiter explained, his ears swiveling back again. “The alfalfa can’t be removed.”

There was a tense moment when the panda and the zebra maître d’ just stared each other down, both unmoving except for the small twitching motions of their ears. Dr. Leuca broke the stand-off first, smiling very amiably and then bowing very deeply.

“You do wonderful work, and I very much appreciate it,” she said, and rose again still smiling. “I understand this inconvenient, and offer my deep apologies. No alfalfa. Please see what you can do.”

The head waiter opened his mouth to say something, which he apparently thought better of as he exchanged another exasperated look with his subordinates. He straightened up with a forced smile and simply repeated the doctor’s words. “Let me see what I can do.”

Dr. Leuca thanked him again as he and the other zebras left. She cast another glance at the wooden bowl filled with the offending greenstuffs, and inhaled its scent one more time. The head waiter wasn’t kidding when he said the foliage was fresh. Under the tangy, pungent whiff of dressing was the subtle and refreshing smell of the outside, of dirt, of rain and spring and the kind of deep, verdant green that might be considered suffocating if not for the ever present and constant inhaling and exhaling of the trees and the ferns and the leaves.

In… _jade and absinthe and olive and moss rustling, shushing, hushing the rest of the world…_ and out… _strands of sunlight weaving through the impossibly tall stems_ … In… _blinking beneath the overgrown ferns as the sun peeked in and out of the shifting, waving leaves…_ and out…

“Dr. Leuca?”

The panda drew a sharp breath and the ancient forest shattered to reveal again the bright, artificial light of the conference room. Just inside the door at the other end of the table stood an okapi in a floor-length gray dress. A dark scarf was tied tastefully around her long neck, though it didn’t completely cover the extensive, jagged scars that it was supposed to hide. She smiled—that is, if you could call it a smile; there was such exhausting sorrow in her eyes.

“I was hoping you would be leading the session today,” she said as she clopped away from the doorframe toward the doctor.

Dr. Leuca’s face brightened as she took the okapi’s hoof in her paw gently. “Amelia! I thought I might see you… but you very early! Everything okay?” She looked behind Amelia, expecting to see someone else who was not there. Where she looked instead was a small wheeled suitcase. Her smile faltered. “Where is Ethan?”

Amelia bit her lip and glanced away. “Well, he’s… not with me. We’re not… together anymore.” She pulled her hoof from the panda’s paws and backed away a step. “I’m moving out to the country, bought a little cottage there. Getting out of the city… for a while at least. He’s going to stay.” Her hooves fidgeted with the scarf around her neck. “We think that some time apart might be what we need. Everything else that we’ve tried… we’re… _I’m…_ still so broken.”

A union between different species was not terribly uncommon in Zootopia, but it was usually at least within the same family tree: a black bear and a grizzly, or a leopard and a jaguar, or a wolf and a coyote. It was much less common for a predator to date, let alone marry, a prey species, and vice versa. That’s what had made the okapi and her predator mate, a handsome clouded leopard named Ethan, the perfect targets for showcasing the “dangers of predator/prey relationships” during those harrowing months when predators were turning savage left and right. (Even Dawn Bellwether cackled during her evaluation when asked why she’d chosen that particulate mark; “When the savage can be inside your own house, lurking inside your own mate… well, then nowhere is safe anymore, is it?”)

Ethan Cirrus was shot in their small backyard while he and Amelia were having a simple picnic dinner outside together. It was the type of date night where they would just talk and sip wine and play a game of cards together. She’d left him for just a few minutes to change when the evening was starting to become more intimate, and returned to find the clouded leopard that used to be her husband prowling their kitchen on all four paws. Amelia did not immediately run, thinking at first that maybe he was trying to be funny; the current events in the news had been a topic of conversation, after all. It was only after Ethan began to hiss and bare his fangs in response to her approach that she fled toward the bedrooms, hoping to barricade herself into one of them and call the ZPD.

He caught her on the stairs. Amelia hit the steps hard as Ethan wrapped his powerful paws around her in a violent crushing, squeezing vice grip around her chest. She screamed until his teeth were around her neck.

It may have been the death that Bellwether had been hoping for if not for the quick actions of a nosy neighbor. The story was sensationalized in the papers and on social media, creating a profound and burrowing fear, one that tunneled so deep into the hearts of all mammals that they were even afraid in their own homes, even among the friends they had known for years. Amelia’s particular case quickly became more about her than the attack, and she was constantly ridiculed as strangers online and in print made nasty suggestions regarding her responsibility for the situation she had found herself. “Let your roleplay get a little out of paw, did you?” and “Well, it serves you right for triggering his prey drive,” and “That’s a thing they _do_ when they mate, don’t they?” and “Running is the _worst_ thing to do! What did you run for?” She didn’t leave her house for weeks.

Dr. Leuca regarded her longtime patient with sadness. “Did something happen? Why suddenly you are leaving?”

“Nothing _happened_ , but…” Fidgeting, uneasy shifting from one hoof to the other. “It’s been almost a year and I still can’t bear his touch. And you know he’s been so patient, but… I can’t stand it. I love a mammal that frightens me to death.” Her big brown eyes glistened. “And he said to me… I’ll never forget it, he said, ‘Will there ever be a day when you won’t look at me like I’m a monster?’” The big tears broke and dripped off her short snout. “And you know, he’s right. It’s not his fault. I’m ruining his life and not being fair.”

“A terrible thing happened to you both,” Dr. Leuca reminded her. “This is the unfair thing. You forget so quickly the progress you have made!”

“Yes, great progress,” Amelia said, her ears drooping dismally. “A year and we can finally be in the same room unsupervised. On opposite sides of the coffee table. As long as there’s a clear path to the door. And it’s open.” She heaved an exasperated sigh. “I’m just so tired. It feels like this will never end.”

“You are frustrated the journey is taking longer than you hoped. But do you think you will ever see your goal if you abandon the path now?”

“‘Abandon?’” Amelia repeated, bristling. “He’s the one that said he needed a break! I’m not abandoning him… I would never…”

“Forgive me, please,” Dr. Leuca interrupted casually. “I must use wrong word. Common Coppice is not my first language, you know. You can help me, maybe? What would be the correct word to mean ‘give up before reaching goal’?”

The okapi stood a few moments, blinking in uncertainty, before squaring her shoulders and holding herself decidedly straighter. “This is just a short trip to the country for some rest. I’m taking a pit stop; not an exit.”

“Glad to hear!” the panda said brightly. “You sounded all so final… with suitcase and everything.” She motioned to the wheeled case that was leaning up against the wall. “This is just temporary, then?”

“Well…” Amelia started to say, and then replied more confidently, “You know what, yes. Yes, I’m going to be home again. I don’t know when yet… but I will.”

“That is good. This is good decision you made, I feel. The country is beautiful… maybe you could paint some? You think so, maybe?”

Before she lost her husband to the nighthowler, Amelia found great joy in painting, and she was exceptionally talented in oil paints. She would create fantastic landscapes and scenes from the sky, all complicated and radiant arrangements of vivid pastels. The one picture Amelia had attempted since the incident gave her a panic attack so violent that the painting ended up in pieces. The deep bloody reds and slate grays of the shredded canvas were spread all over the floor. She hadn’t picked up a paintbrush since.

“It did cross my mind… I tried too soon last time. I thought I might try again… slowly.” She gave a small smile. “Maybe… maybe if I see more of the sky and less of the skyline, maybe I’ll find my palette again.”

“I would not be surprised.”

“Yes, well… ever hopeful.” The okapi glanced at the wall clock and drew a tiny startled gasp. “Oh, I’ll miss my train! Doctor, I’m so sorry; I have to be going…”

“You will not stay for session?” Dr. Leuca asked expectantly. “It is anniversary tonight.”

“No, I can’t… I really had just come to say goodbye. From us both.” Amelia clasped the panda’s paw gratefully. “We appreciate all your guidance so much. Thank you.”

“Of course, of course. This is why I am here.” Dr. Leuca covered the tiny hooves with her other paw; shook them once, firmly; and let them go. She bowed, as was her customary way of bidding her patients farewell. “May you find your sad days behind you and only happy ones ahead.”

Amelia hurried to her suitcase and after another few words of thanks plucked it up, plowed through the door, and was gone.

The small panda was left alone (again) in the hall of empty chairs. Soon they would be filled with mammals waiting to hear her speak. She wondered how many would be listening tonight. Who would hear her words this time? How many sessions had she led thus far? How many did she still have to give before they would no longer be necessary? Before _she_ would no longer be necessary…?

“Miss?”

Again Dr. Leuca blinked out of her thoughts to find the zebra maitre d’ had returned with the hotel owner, an older zebra in a sharp black suit that contrasted noticeably against his graying stripes. They strode over to her briskly, the owner clopping purposefully with his employee in tow behind him and trying to keep up.

The owner pushed his spectacles up his snout as he approached, and got right down to the business he had been summoned for. “A very good evening to you. I’ve been informed that there is an issue with the refreshment selections for this evening?”

“Oh, no no, no issues,” Dr. Leuca interrupted, and waved her paw dismissively. “The food just lovely. Please give compliments to your chef. I believe the attending mammals will enjoy very much.”

“Is that so? I’m happy to hear that.” The owner shot a poisonous glance at his head waiter for the apparent waste of his time. The younger zebra appeared to shrink under the angry eye of his boss. “I was led to believe there might be a concern regarding the ingredients.”

“Ah, yes, thank you… there was,” Dr. Leuca said, and glanced over their shoulders at the closed door. “But I believe that will not be a concern anymore.”

*****

 “I’m curious why you would dissuade the young lady from her decision to remain permanently in the country.” Dr. Buckner was again taking notes on his clipboard.

Melanie blinked. “What do you mean?”

Dr. Buckner stopped writing and shrugged. “It just seems that she had made up her mind to remove herself from a situation that is causing her daily anxiety—a situation, I might add, that seems dangerous for her to remain in. Rather than support that decision, it appears that you instead made her uncertain of it. As a result, she reconsidered her choice completely. Again, I ask: why did you do that?”

“She belongs with her husband,” Melanie said firmly, and wrinkled her snout.

“The predator who nearly raped and strangled her to death.” The bluntness of the doctor’s words made Melanie’s chest hurt. “Surely that is not a mammal that anyone belongs with.”

Melanie bristled. “This is not domestic abuse case. I know this mammal well. I have counseled him many months. On nighthowler he had no control of his actions. He would never hurt her otherwise. She runs away from danger that is no longer there. This will not help her reach her goals.”

With a sigh, the reindeer removed his glasses from his snout and plucked a handkerchief from his breast pocket. “What are the long-term effects of exposure to nighthowler toxin, especially in the extreme doses that these mammals experienced?” he asked as he carefully cleaned the lenses and held them up to inspect his work.

“Why do you ask me this?” Melanie asked crossly. “You know there are no studies yet. Such an incident has never before happened.”

“Quite right.” Dr. Buckner replaced the spectacles back on his nose. “And please tell me… what is the lady afraid of now?”

The panda frowned deeply. “You are insulting me, Doctor.”

“I assure you that is not my intent. Answer the question.”

“That he will attack her again.”

“Yes. And at this time there is nothing—no study, no science, no concrete evidence—to say that he won’t.”

Melanie bristled again and swallowed hard. She felt her own gripping worries rising in her throat. “Nothing says he will,” she argued feebly. “It is not certain. But she loves him. And he loves her. This _is_ certain.”

Dr. Buckner looked at Melanie with eyes that reminded her of a dead fish’s—blank, staring, and without warmth. “I have no doubt,” he said evenly. “But that did not save her before. Who says it would save her if this should happen again?”

A howling wind whistled in her ears. Its pitch rose into a deafening tone, screaming a warning. _Shhhh, hush now. Calm yourself… there is no danger here… you are far away… far, far away…_

Melanie clenched her jaw and twitched her ears to quell the siren alarm rising. “That is big ‘if,’” she said, and squared her shoulders. “Perhaps a mammal should never again attempt thing that has hurt him? A fall from tree, or resume driving after accident, or love again after heartache. Is this not destructive attitude?”

Dr. Buckner’s ears flattened and his eyes narrowed. “This is not the same as tumbling off a bike, and I would say it is irresponsible to trivialize such trauma.”

“I do not belittle her suffering,” she said calmly, “but it seems you keep failing to acknowledge his. He is victim also, used as weapon just because of his teeth and claws. Against his will he attacked the mammal he holds most dear. And he cannot even remember doing it.”

This was not an unusual conversation, although Melanie always found it frustrating. It was the most difficult aspect of the very specific population that she was counseling: that even those who were labeled the aggressors in fact needed just as much guidance and attention as those they had injured. The predators that had been compelled into violence by the insidious chemical, designed to target and toggle off the most sacred piece of their minds. In the space of time between two heartbeats, it snatched away everything that made them who they really were, and replaced them with savage beasts. Even in spite of all the small considerations, the support program, the pardon, there were still so many mammals who insisted that the little blue flower just brought out something dark and primal that they had within them all along, something that simply didn’t exist within prey species.

They shouldered such gratuitous blame. It was no wonder so many of the predators involved in the Nighthowler Incident had found themselves on anti-depressants and sleep aids. Panic attacks were exceedingly common. One in five were still undergoing treatment for post-traumatic stress.

And yet it continued to be a hotly contested debate whether the predators deserved just as much consideration as the ones that they had attacked.

“I imagine that the guilt…” Melanie continued after a pause. “It must be awful.”

“She can’t possibly establish a safe environment with the very mammal who mauled her. He could be _unstable._ ” He practically spat the word at her. “Violence begets violence. Staying put could be a matter of life and death for her. How can you not tell her to _run_ and never look back?”

“Unjust fear caused so much pain for these mammals last year,” Melanie countered. “I always encourage due caution in all things. Due caution. Not irrational fear. To suggest risk is increased of her husband’s aggression _without nighthowler exposure_ is absurd. As you say: there are no studies yet of such possibility. To fear a mammal for thing he had no control of, and will likely never do again… it would never end. They would drown in fear. What she wants is not guarantee of safety. It is to find strength to face what her instinct tells her to avoid. To be able to live alongside her fear without being controlled by it. This is the goal she set herself. She does not want to run away. She has told me so. She just needed reminder.”

There was a short pause and the doctor gave a subdued, but obviously exasperated, sigh. “This seems to be something you’re… passionate about. But you’re a professional therapist, Melanie,” Dr. Buckner reminded her, and picked up his pen in his hoof. “Are you really going to ignore the obvious concern present in their relationship?”

She stared at him with eyes that were half fire and half stone. “I do not know what you refer to, Doctor,” she said coolly. “Explain, please.” _I dare you._

The space between their staring eyes was so heated it seemed even the dust that fell between them would ignite. Their intense standoff was brief and silent. An ear flick and a nose lick later it was broken. _Scribble scribble scribble scribble_ went the pen.

“I apologize for the interruption,” Dr. Buckner said, and set the pen down on his clipboard again. “Where were we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully the setup is not too confusing, but it is my intent for each chapter to be laid out similarly: flashback to events at the N.I.T.E. session, followed by a discussion in the present with Melanie and Dr. Buckner. Thank you again for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unpleasant face at N.I.T.E. gives Dr. Leuca cause for concern as the session gets under way. Meanwhile, a mother shares an experience with the group regarding her daughter and it strikes a deep chord in Melanie, one that Dr. Buckner tries to pursue. What else isn't she saying?

“…a popular natural pest deterrent, the Midnicampum holicithias, or nighthowler crocus, is commonly used in the agricultural industry to prevent crop loss. An increasing demand for all-natural, chemical-free insect control methods through the turn of the century boosted the sale of nighthowler bulbs by 62% in the triboroughs…”

Many of the regulars had come, as the good doctor anticipated. The original 14 missing mammals were all in attendance, and tonight Emmitt Otterton had brought his wife and pups with him, as well. Renato Manchas was present also and—surprise!—he was actually seated on the same side of the room as Emmitt tonight. Dr. Leuca found that heartening; his path had been a struggle, especially considering that he had the unfortunate distinction of being both attacked and an attacker. He slept little without medication, and still had not returned to work full time. Though he’d been friendly with the mild-mannered otter in the past, Renato still hadn’t really approached him since the night Emmitt clawed up his face and ran out of his limo into the woods. After more than a year they hadn’t spoken more than a strangled ‘hello’ to one another. Maybe that was close to changing at last.

She was glad to see that Kathleen Hoarfrost had decided to come tonight, as well. A teacher by profession, the older snow leopard had been tutoring a moose calf in the Tundratown Public Library when she was shot. She reportedly had stepped out of the building before the toxin took a complete hold of her. As she was one of the first mammals shot, experts surmised that she was probably the subject of an early dosing test and was likely exposed to a less potent version of the serum that, for later victims, caused the almost immediate savage behavior.

Due to tenure and union rules, the school district Ms. Hoarfrost worked for was unable to terminate her employment when she was found in her savage state, though significant pressure was put on the school board by parents and other teachers to do so anyway. When she was again able to return to teaching, Kathleen was met with a picket line. At the PTA meeting where she was supposed to resign, she instead took her resignation letter, tore it into a dozen tiny pieces, and proceeded to eat them while she berated the room for setting such a poor example for the students she loved so much.

“Anyone who wants my resignation that badly can jump right down my throat and get it,” the newspaper had quoted her. “Do mind the fangs.”

Kathleen’s well-timed and well-spoken input was often valuable, and she had a keen ability to deescalate flaring tempers and guide other mammals toward calm and focus. Though merely a precaution, given the number of mammals in attendance, Dr. Leuca was counting her allies in case the night turned rough.

The turnout was greater than anyone had anticipated. All chairs were filled (save the ones too small for anyone to sit in) and there was only standing room left by the time the session officially began. Even as Dr. Leuca started the program, every so often the back door would creak open and another few mammals would sneak in and find a spot by the wall to stand and listen.

“Instances of nighthowler poisoning remained infrequent until the Nighthowler Incident, when a small terrorist group created a weaponized version to…”

The support group began as it always did: Dr. Leuca sitting with the textbook open and reciting the chosen sections that she had read dozens of times in dozens of sessions before. It was a bit of a strain for her eyes and the small text swam in the glare of the lights, but these words flowed easily enough; they were words that she’d spoken so many times before that they had become second nature.

She would always begin with knowledge. The facts were reassuring to her, felt empowering, and she always imagined that giving some background would level the playing field for new attendees. It was dangerous to assume too much that everyone knew exactly the same things, especially considering that the event being discussed had propagated such polarizing viewpoints. Here at the start she would lay a solid foundation that could hopefully withstand the sometimes inevitable torrents of emotion that would follow.

“…as a result of the Nighthowler Incident, and to more closely monitor the acquisition of other Class C botanicals, the Floral Procurement Registry Act was initiated, which prohibits the sale, purchase, and transport of several plant species, including nighthowler bulbs and blossoms. Use in gardens and floral arrangements has been banned, and only those mammals who have applied for a commercial use permit and passed a stringent background check are allowed to sell, purchase, or grow nighthowlers for any reason. The list of registered licensees is publicly available online, and all permits must be verified before a sale can be finalized.”

Dr. Leuca smiled at her listeners as she closed the book and set it aside on the table. Again, her ears swiveled as the door in back squeaked open, but she wasn’t able to discern who had entered; another small mammal, judging by how quickly it escaped the corner of her eye. She inwardly hoped that would be the last of the stragglers and resumed speaking.

“This general information all current as of seven months ago when comprehensive work on nighthowler was published. Much has been learned since this edition was printed. We will learn more this evening together as we discuss how it has effected whole city, and each mammal individually.”

There was a huffy snort from not too far away, and Dr. Leuca’s ears turned automatically to pinpoint its source. She kept a small smile on her muzzle as she scanned the right side of the room and found exactly who she supposed the grunt belonged to. Third row, first seat. A middle-aged pig with a collared shirt and the sourest expression on his face.

_So, Robert… you did come, after all._

It was unclear why Robert LeBoare ever attended N.I.T.E. meetings, except maybe that they presented him an audience and opportunity to insist that his family’s suffering at the paws of “that damn, scruff-faced chomper” was absolutely worse than any other mammal’s, and he was prepared to fight you on that. Robert was a devoted organizer during the peak of the anti-predator protests, and had been on ZNN more than once to argue fervently in favor of a predator-free Zootopia, even after Dawn Bellwether was sentenced.

Although he had not encountered a savage mammal throughout the whole of the Nighthowler Incident, his brother had been brutally mauled when his neighbor, a young wolf, was turned. When asked how his sibling was faring, Robert would recount, at great length, the long list of medical treatments and surgeries that his brother had endured and reiterate (yet again) that it was more than any other mammal had been subject to. No session that he participated in ever ended well.

Dr. Leuca never barred any mammal from attending the group sessions, but felt deep down, in the darkest and most secret crevasse of her heart, that if she were to ever consider such a thing it would be because of and intended for Robert LeBoare.

She stood from her chair and soldiered on. “A quick summary of how our session will continue, for those who arrive late. I am Dr. Melanie Leuca. I will be your counselor this evening. We just now review reason we are all gathered, and will have group activities shortly. Between each exercise we will discuss how it made us feel, and what we discover about ourselves. This is safe place, where we help each other heal. Every path to balance is different, and everyone walks the path at their own pace. Be patient and kind here. Anyone who begins to feel alarmed, or faint, or panic, please tell me and I will help you. Do not be ashamed.”

Dr. Leuca stepped down off the raised stage and walked down the row of chairs as she spoke. “I know there may be some who come for very specific reason tonight. Maybe share story, or reconnect lost friendship. I like to give small time now in the beginning for this reason. Does anyone wish to use it?”

The invitation was a formality, and although Dr. Leuca anticipated one particular mammal to open the first group discussion, anyone who stood would be welcome to speak. She just hoped it would not be Robert first. She imagined she heard a chair creak beneath a shifting weight behind her, but if anyone made motion to stand then they must have abandoned it once Helen began speaking.

“Hi, everyone,” a frail-looking coyote mother said in a rasping voice. “I’m Helen. I actually asked for just a little time before we started, and I do promise to be quick. I’m sure the schedule for tonight is packed.”

To be better seen, she stood on her chair with what appeared to be a ream of paper in her arms. “Where do I start…? I haven’t come for so long but… I’m hoping for your help. I lost… I have enough flyers for everyone to take… my daughter was… is…” She grappled with her papers and her words, and both appeared to be moments from unraveling. There were so many flyers, they threatened to spill out of her paws at any moment.

“Deep breath, Helen.” The coyote stopped her frantic rambling and looked to see Dr. Leuca there at her side. The panda smiled and relieved her of the stack. “I will take these for you. Focus on your words.”

“Yes… yes, thank you. That would be fine…” Helen hesitated on the brink of a sob as she watched her work distributed without her. She did as she was told and took a deep breath before plowing on to give context to the pages that mammals were starting to read over. “I wasn’t gone for long. I think I was one of the last, so I wasn’t in the hospital for more than… maybe a week? I was fortunate, I think. And I don’t feel much different than I did before, honestly. I guess I bounced back a bit faster, which I’m thankful for. But my daughter Maya… she wasn’t the same after I came home.”

She took another ragged breath to calm her increasingly trembling voice. “CCPS told me that she wasn’t there when I had gone missing, and they took her to the group foster home downtown when I went to the hospital. They said it was for her safety, but she said no one told her what happened to me and she was so scared! It’s just been the two of us for such a long time… she’s still just a pup, just turned twelve…”

It was established procedure for the young whose parents or guardians were incapacitated in the savage mammal attacks—either due to injury or mental impairment—to be taken into custody by Calf and Cub Protective Services, especially in the absence of any next of kin. It was a temporary, though a frightening, situation that the children found themselves in, and though many were eventually claimed and taken in by family while the situation unraveled, others were stuck in a limbo of waiting and wondering if they would ever see their parents again.

“I know that they were just doing what they thought was best… I just wish they’d done something… _else_ ,” Helen continued, doing her best to quell the rising tide of sadness. “They should have given her—given all of them, the poor things!—some consideration, some reason why they were kept apart. Maybe they thought that because the children were young they wouldn’t notice? I don’t know… but my Maya did. And it just… it just hurt her so much.”

“My Jacob went through the same thing,” a hyena commented as Helen paused. “How they got corralled and separated from the other fosters ‘just in case,’ and then having two or three enormous, like, _rhinos_ assigned to watch over them every second of the day. He said he felt like a criminal, and he’s just the sweetest pup in the whole city! He’s not totally over it, either, actually…”

Unknown at the time, the mammals in charge of the foster care program ran a series of surreptitious information gathering sessions on the young predators coming into the system to try and establish whether or not the savage behavior might be genetic. Because of this concern, the little predators were segregated from the rest of the general population of young mammals “for everyone’s safety” until the very day that Dawn Bellwether was arrested. For mammals so young to be treated so roughly without being given adequate information about what had happened to their loved ones… it was no wonder they had trouble reestablishing a sense of normalcy back with their families once their parents and guardians had been returned home again. Separation anxiety was not uncommon, and night terrors still plagued some of the younger children even a year later.

“That’s exactly what she told me too. Exactly.” Helen’s voice was breaking up into heaving sobs. She finished speaking amidst hiccoughing whimpers. “And I took her to a counselor when she was acting out… skipping school but… she didn’t seem to make any improvements. And I know it was… my fault that… she ran off. When I had lost… my temper with her and… and I yelled too loudly and… she bolted out the door and… and she was gone.”

She wiped the tears from around her eyes with the collar of her jacket and tried to swallow the spasms in her throat for a moment or two. “And she… she hasn’t come home. I still haven’t found her, but I’m still looking. It’s the only reason I get out of bed in the morning now, and I just lap the city in the car, and walk new neighborhoods, hoping. But it’s going on four months… the police said that they had to move her case to ‘long-term missing’ and it feels like they’re giving up. But I can’t give up. So if you all could just take a flyer with you tonight and keep an eye out for my Maya, I would be grateful. There are so many here that… well, that I thought a few more eyes might make a difference. So thank you… thank you for your time.”

Dr. Leuca came back to her row with the few remaining flyers and handed Helen a tissue as she stepped down from the chair. “You are very strong, I am sure all here will agree,” she said, and put a paw gently on the coyote’s shoulder. “You keep working hard alone. It is difficult to keep energy up when alone. It is good you reach out to other mammals now and share this with the parents and families here. When we can connect with each other dur… oh! Yes, little one?”

One of the Otterton pups had snuck up behind her and tugged at Dr. Leuca’s skirt while she was speaking, taking her a little by surprise. He had a tiny voice, but spoke firmly to the larger mammals in front of him.

“Could me and my brother have a few more, please?” he asked, and pointed at the leftover papers that the panda was holding. “So we can take them to school with us?”

A soft, slow spreading smile tugged at Dr. Leuca’s muzzle. _Oh, you wonderful child…_

“I think this is very nice thing to ask.” She found Emmitt’s eyes in the crowd halfway across the room; he shrugged in a half-apologetic way, but in his face there was great pride. “Is this okay with you, Helen?”

Again, tears brimmed in the coyote mother’s eyes, but instead of sadness there was happy surprise. “Yes, of course! Thank you! Please, take them all!”

As the little otter returned to his seat beaming and triumphant with the few pages held high over his head, the room began to buzz all around them with murmurs, mammals speaking aside to each other. The conversation bits and pieces carried around the hall, and though they were mixing and mingling with each other, the theme was the same. All around the single heartbroken mother came the words of predators and prey alike all collaborating to help her.

“What a clever idea…”

“I bet I could find a spot on the bulletin board at my cousin’s shop…”

“I’ll roll copies into the morning paper when the boys make their deliveries…”

“This should be a feature in the Gazette…”

Dr. Leuca thanked Helen quietly with a pat on her shoulder and let her sit back in her seat amongst the subdued and heartening commotion. She let the murmurs continue for a little while, basking in their warmth for as long as she felt was sensible, and called the room to order to continue the session. There was much more to talk about tonight.

As she resumed her position by the stage at the front of the room, she cast a quick glance at the pig named Robert LeBoare. He alone appeared unmoved, unenthused, and seemingly adverse to the small bit of kindness that had graced the mammals thus far. The look in his eyes was one that made her blood turn cold, even under the blazing lights of the hall. She was not terribly shocked to see his cloven hooves clasped and empty.

_Whatever has brought you here tonight, Robert?_

Dr. Leuca had to force her face not to wrinkle under an imminent frown and she launched into her introduction of the upcoming group exercise as cheerfully as she could. In her ears, a shrill ringing was beginning to rise.

*****

“You’ve spoken about the mother and daughter a few times before, as I recall.” The scribbling pen had stopped for quite some time now, and Dr. Buckner instead listened with his chin resting atop his clasped hooves.

“Yes, this is true.” Melanie tugged her ear absently. “I had not seen her at N.I.T.E. for long time… and the daughter only once in private.”

“How did her account make you feel? With what happened to the whelp?” Dr. Buckner asked. Melanie pursed her lips at the pejorative term he used; technically accurate, but even then of negative connotation. “Were you surprised that she was still missing?”

“It is mixed feeling,” Melanie said, and readjusted her position. She decided to just stand and walk about the office while she talked; if she kept sitting and looking into his eyes she thought she might start tearing up herself. “Her mother came to see me few months ago, just after her daughter runs away. She was sick with worry. Still is very much. I tell her stay strong, and do not lose her hope. She searches all day until it is dark. Her work let her take leave for little while, but it is time to return or bills will be unpaid. She feels if she does not keep trying to look she will miss finding her child.” She picked up a small paperweight off the large mahogany desk and turned it over in her paws. The brown and white blown glass resembled a scene from the tundra. “It is sad for her.”

_I asked about_ you _, Melanie. What are_ you _feeling?_ “I agree. It is sad.” He watched after her as she moved about the office, looking at the bookshelves and the titles that filled them. Her glances were everywhere except in his direction. “Do you think it might be time to have her consider that her child may no longer be alive?”

Melanie turned sharply, appalled. “What a thing to ask! Certainly not!”

“If the police have no leads by now, it’s a logical next step to begin considering the possibility that the girl will never be able to return home,” Dr. Buckner said evenly.

“If the mother decides that is the thing to now consider, I will guide her through grief counsel as she needs. I would not remove her hope from her before she is ready. It would be cruel.”

“That’s fair,” Dr. Buckner said. “But honestly… isn’t it about time? I mean… the pup is twelve. How many twelve-year-olds today can survive by themselves away from home?”

Melanie returned her gaze back to the bookshelves, trying to take in the faded words on the spines and failing. She traced her claw over the letters with slow and deliberate precision. “I did.”

It was the loud ringing in her ears that shattered the silence. When she looked back at the reindeer again, she saw his eyes watching her intently, his erect ears turned fully forward. Melanie felt a hot blush crawling beneath her fur.

“You know,” he began as a ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, “we’ve been having these appointments almost weekly for the past ten months and I think that is the first time I’ve heard you actually say something about yourself.”

Melanie tensed at his comment; it grated against her like sandpaper. She tried to give him what she hoped was a nonchalant smile and waved his words away with her paw.

“It is unimportant,” she said casually. “It is old matter. The child missing now… that is the serious thing.”

Dr. Buckner’s face fell, disappointed. He picked up his pen and scribbled another quick note on the clipboard before again setting it aside.

“Do you ever feel that you internalize their sorrows too much?” he asked as Melanie turned back to the books. “When they recount these stories?”

“It is important to empathize with patients,” Melanie replied defensively, casting a sideways glance at him. “How can I help them if I do not care?”

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t care,” Dr. Buckner said. “I’m just asking if you ever think that maybe you care _too much._ This is something that can impact the treatment you give, no?”

Melanie decided to take her seat again; there was definitely no danger of tears anymore. “You might give example how, maybe?”

It might have been an occupational hazard of being a therapist, but she imagined she and Dr. Buckner were engaging in a mutual psychoanalysis—a sort of conversational tango—during the give and take of their sessions. She could not help answering his questions with questions of her own many times, even though she knew this frustrated him.

To his credit, he did not refuse her query. “Well, let’s consider the child. She is missing for almost four months… if she is still alive, this is a much longer time period than normal. After a simple argument, one so young would usually return soon after the fight. But probably not if there is a bigger issue at home. Maybe the argument was just the last straw in a long line of mistreatment. Your focus is on the mental well-being of the mother, but the question you might ask, if you weren’t sympathizing so deeply with her, might be ‘what is the reason that the girl ran away?’”

“I do ask this,” Melanie said, annoyed. “I ask her when we meet privately if she is being abused. ‘Does anyone hurt you?’ I ask. She tells me ‘yes.’ This is why she runs away.”

Dr. Buckner’s narrowed his eyes. “Who was hurting her? I would normally suggest a member of the household, but I take it this isn’t the case?”

“No, it is not.” Melanie looked down at her clasped paws. “Her mother does not hurt her. It is classmates. At school.”

She closed her eyes and saw an image of Maya as she was in their session flash before her. The slicked back ears and the clenched paws, the eyes reddened by tears and sleepless nights. The quiet rage that grew from her profound misery. Heavy, dark emotions that did not belong on the face of a child.

The reindeer scratched the back of his neck. He hesitated, considering whether he should continue this topic, before finally asking, “What happened?”

Melanie blinked away the image of the young pup before it seared itself too deep into her eyelids. “Her mother did not attack anyone when she was shot. She told me that they found her eat from garbage bins in alley. But children see the mother muzzled and taken away. They torment the little girl for this. They call her ‘savage spawn,’ and they pin her and pull her ears and draw in them with pen. To ‘tag’ the possible savage so everyone else will shun her. She says if she bares her teeth or scratches they will kick her and hurt her more. So she does not fight because they are many and she is only one. And she cries and washes her ears and stays awake at night and knows tomorrow it will happen again.”

It was hard to keep from crying as she recounted the many horrible words as they were disclosed to her many months ago.

“I sometimes think that children can be even more monstrous than adults.” Dr. Buckner folded his hooves together under his chin with a sigh. “Did her mother know that this was happening at school?”

“Yes, of course,” Melanie said, and rubbed her eyes. They ached from holding back the tiny flood. “I tell her also, and she tells the teachers and principal and they say this is not tolerated and they will make all right. But still it continues. And this is why mother and daughter fight, because the girl skips school to stay away from bullies. But her mother must work and cannot have her home. Then they shout and slam doors and she runs away and is gone.”

“Why not change her classes, then?” Dr. Buckner inquired. “Or her school? Surely there were other options to consider than to just hope that the harassment would suddenly stop.”

Melanie looked up into the reindeer’s eyes for a moment and appreciated the small fire she saw there.

She shrugged. “To transfer to new district would require they move, but they have meager means. Move away from work stresses already tight budget. The mother is torn, but decides to let school take care of issue. There is no good solution.”

“There is only one solution.” With a blink, the little fire was extinguished, and again his blue eyes appeared cool and hard. “I would think that a parent would do whatever she could to remove her child from a situation of daily torment. Whatever that may _cost._ ”

Melanie huffed and wrinkled her snout. “Do you have any children, Doctor?” she asked, although looking around the pictureless office she already felt certain what his answer would be.

Dr. Buckner leaned back in his chair. “No, I can’t say that I do,” he admitted.

“And neither do I. Maybe we should not presume anything of the difficulty in raising young. Most mothers do the best they can for their offspring.”

The pause that followed her comment lasted a beat too long. Again the shrill warning was rising, and she searched Dr. Buckner’s eyes for a sign of where his mind was, but his stare was altogether entirely unreadable.

“What?” Melanie finally asked.

He leaned far forward and pointed at her. “You said ‘most.’”

Melanie’s breath caught in her throat. “Yes… and?”

“Why would you say ‘most’ and not ‘all’ unless you were thinking of some mother in particular?”

_Panic_. “No, that is not what I—”

“What about _your_ mother, Melanie?” The question came at her so fast and so hard that she had no time to defend against it; she felt as though it had punched a hole right through her. “You have never discussed your family in our sessions… not once. Is that why you are identifying so strongly with the coyote now? Is she a caring mother figure that you didn’t have and you always wanted?”

She felt her breath being strangled by the panic.

“Please stop,” she said, and her voice was a tiny squeak as she covered her ears with her paws to block out the words and the wailing siren.

But Dr. Buckner seemed excited now; the sentences picked up speed instead. “I wish we would pursue this. I mean… I know why you come here. It’s obvious the care you have for these mammals; they’re all you talk about. All we ever talk about is how _they_ are and how you’re helping them reach their goals for… why? Maybe professional confirmation of your methods?”

Did she do this to her patients? Did she batter them with her words until their hearts were laid bare to her? Her mind flew to her conversation with Amelia and sewed it with doubt. Did she undo their hard work with _her_ own presumptions about what was best for them? Was she just moving them down a path of her own making, rather than the path that they chose for themselves?

“ _Please stop_.”

“But here, now, _finally_ … at last you’re focusing on how _you_ feel rather than how _they_ feel. You are _showing_ anger and sadness and I think all this hurt is starting to resonate in you and… these are the types of conversations that we need to be having! Don’t gloss over this. Embrace it. Talk it through with—”

“I SAID _STOP!_ ”

The force in her voice almost frightened her, and the explosion finally did make the reindeer stop. He reeled back in his chair with ears flattened and nostrils flared, and he froze like he was in the way of an oncoming car. For a few moments neither said anything, and only labored breathing could be heard between them. The ringing in Melanie’s ears gave way to the beat of her thundering heart.

Eventually, Dr. Buckner picked his pen and clipboard back up in his hooves. “Very well, then.” He looked at her with an expression that was hard for her to place… maybe part sympathy? Annoyance? Disappointment? “You know, you keep saying that everyone has their own path to balance and inner wellbeing. I just sometimes wonder if you may still be on that journey yourself.”

She bristled and her muzzle lifted into a warning grimace. “You are pushing me. I do not appreciate this and I will leave if you do not stop.”

He raised his hooves defensively. “Alright… alright. That’s fine. This time is yours. You may use it however you see fit. That’s what you’re paying me for. I’m simply stating what I observe.”

“Then I insist you please observe your clipboard.”

“If that’s what you prefer,” Dr. Buckner said with a little noncommittal shrug. “But we eventually will have to start addressing your own opportunities for self-discovery.”

“The patient sets the pace,” she snapped back. “Is this not correct, Doctor?”

“As you say,” he replied, and sounded resigned. “But I don’t think I would count ‘standing still’ as setting a pace.” He nodded at her coolly. “Please continue whenever you’re ready.”

As Melanie returned to where she had left off in her narrative, Dr. Buckner regarded his few most recent notes with sincere concern, and put a big circle around them:

> _Auditory distress? Trigger? Hallucination?_
> 
> _Runaway v. young_
> 
> _Mother=abusive???_

He had never seen his colleague in such a wild state. And he had pushed her before, tried to get her to open up about herself; she was not shy about shutting him down, much to his chagrin. Of all their many sessions—and they certainly had had many—he couldn’t think of one that had ever escalated to such a point. What was it that had worked her up so much?

_What is it, Melanie?_ His ears pinned back under his internal question and he circled his notes one more time and marked them with an exclamation point. _What happened to you last N.I.T.E?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few familiar faces, and a few new ones. Yes, the pig is the one from the ZNN protest coverage. Now we're getting somewhere. Next chapter will probably take some time to get right so hunker down, ladies and gentlemammals.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first exercise at the N.I.T.E. class takes a bad turn when Renato Manchas finally tries to reconnect with Emmitt Otterton, and an innocent inquiry from a young deer raises serious questions about where the N.I.T.E. program is heading. Dr. Buckner begins experiencing a much different session of his own with a much more acquiescent Melanie, and worries about her deteriorating disposition as the narrative begins its final phase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought this was going to go a bit differently, but then the characters got away from me... happy with where it ended up, though. Things are starting to ramp up at N.I.T.E. Next chapter... everything goes south.
> 
> Thank you all again for reading. Enjoy.

The first exercise was an old standby informally called “Getting to Know Your Neighbors,” meant to get participating mammals to interact with one another. They could stay seated or move around the room, but the rules were for the participant to chat with three other mammals and find something that they had in common. The catch was that they could not engage another of their species, and had to talk with at least two mammals that were from the opposite family. For a prey mammal, that meant talking with two or three predators; for a predator, vice versa.

Dr. Leuca encouraged everyone to take part in the exercise, although she would not force anyone to participate if they did not want to. Which, naturally, Robert didn’t; while almost all of the other mammals milled around conversing, he stood at the back by the refreshment table, alternating eating and scowling. Standard, expected behavior. It would not be the first time he had opted out of participating in a session, and urging his involvement was a good way to get an unwanted and typically volatile reaction. She decided to let him be for now.

As a freeform exercise, usually very little guidance was needed. Dr. Leuca walked about observing the interactions, satisfied that practically everyone appeared to be in good spirits. It was always a little iffy, because there was an ever-present possibility of a confrontation between a predator and another mammal that he had attacked. It was a lot to ask any mammal to approach the one who had hurt him—or, alternately, those that he had hurt—and most shied away from that type of situation. But, since the opportunity was present, Dr. Leuca remained vigilant.

Kathleen was chatting up the elephant and young hippo in the back, eyes bright and tail flitting about enthusiastically. Helen appeared to be having a lively conversation with a zebra and her two foals. A mother connecting with another mother. Dr. Leuca smiled; there was always some bit of common ground amongst mammals. Sometimes there was no trick in finding it. It was only a matter of having the courage to reach out a paw and say “hello.”

There was a lot to look at, a lot to listen to. She allowed enough time for meaningful exchanges to begin to develop, and watched for certain indicators to determine when the interactions were beginning to shift from “polite” to “friendly.” Eventually, it came time to start moving on to the discussion, but as Dr. Leuca prepared to bring everyone back in, one meeting in particular caught her eye. She couldn’t help but watch it unfold intently and decided at once that she wouldn’t continue until she saw how this interaction ended.

Renato Manchas was standing closer to Emmitt Otterton than Dr. Leuca had seen him (voluntarily) stand in the past two months. Emmitt’s back was still to him, as he and his wife were speaking intimately with another small mammal, from the looks of it. From her vantage point, Dr. Leuca watched Renato start forward, change his mind, turn, change his mind again, get frustrated with himself, turn back, and start forward again… twice.

_Come on, Renato,_ Dr. Leuca urged the jaguar silently. _You’re ready for this. Look how close you are! Just reach out your paw…_

_Tap, tap._ Contact at last! Emmitt turned to face the mammal that had tapped his shoulder and looked up with mild surprise at Renato standing very awkwardly before him. The otter gave a little wave while his wife held onto his sweater vest beside him as she so often did (it was something that wasn’t noticeable unless you were looking for it, how she was constantly holding onto his paw, or an article of his clothing, or wrapping her tail around his; like she might lose him again if she let him go). Dr. Leuca was too far away to hear anything that they said, but the jaguar seemed to be maintaining his calm as he spoke, though he kept twitching his tail nervously and touching his face right where his previous injury had been. He must have said something that was clever or funny, because Emmitt smiled slowly and started to laugh, and then Renato started to chuckle as well, and Dr. Leuca just wanted to holler with joy to see them beginning to recover what they had lost so suddenly last year. Emmitt motioned to the other mammal that he’d been speaking with to introduce Renato…

“Dr. Leuca, do you have a minute?” The scene was interrupted as a young deer tugged on her sleeve and called her attention away. He looked unsettled, and Dr. Leuca worried she had missed something while she was preoccupied watching her long-term patient have his breakthrough.

“Yes, of course!” she said brightly, trying to put him at ease. “What help do you need? Is exercise going okay?”

“Oh, yeah. Nothing like that. This was really nice! I don’t live near many predators, so it was cool to see how much we actually have in common. I exchanged online handles with Eddie—he’s the tiger over there—so we can group together in game. I haven’t had a healer since last expansion, but he’s the same level I am! I didn’t think anyone played World of Pawcraft as much as me!”

Dr. Leuca tried not to look too confused; a lot of what he said didn’t make much sense to her, but he appeared to have had a good experience so that was enough. “This sounds like good news,” she said. “Why did you have such an upset face then?”

“Oh… right, I forgot why I came over. We were checking the calendar on the N.I.T.E. website for the next session date, and there isn’t another one posted after this.” He held his smartphone up in one hoof to show her while itching at his fuzzy budding antlers with the other. “Do you know why? Or when it will be?”

Time slowed to a crawl. The din of the room fell to sudden silence and a shrill ringing started to fill the void. Her ear twitched; the low siren was squelched and time returned. She forced a smile.

“May I see, please?” Dr. Leuca asked, and he handed the phone to her. It was very small in her paws, and the text was impossibly tiny, but what he said seemed to be true. They were at the end of the month, the last session on the current calendar. She swiped forward, and forward, and forward again, and each month’s calendar was conspicuously blank. No times, no venues, no counselor names. Just… nothing.

_That’s not right… surely a mistake._ She thought. Her gut turned cold and her ears throbbed. She handed the phone back as she tugged one ear and widened her smile. “This site is probably needs attention. It is end of month so I am sure admin just forgets to update. I will contact tonight; will be all fine tomorrow.”

“Okay… that’s what Eddie said, too. I wasn’t sure.” The young deer still didn’t look sure. He started back to his seat. “Thanks, Doctor.”

“Certainly. Thank you for bringing to my attention.” Her cheeks were beginning to ache from the clenched smile and she let it drop immediately once he was far enough away. She shook her head to dispel the lingering anxiety.

_Not another second of worry; you overreact to nothing. Just call later and you’ll see all is well. Now, back to the happy reunion!_

Dr. Leuca almost forgot the scene she was watching when it had been interrupted by the young buck. She turned back with excited anticipation, only to have it snatched suddenly away. The cheerful little gathering was not at all as she had left it.

Like a macabre time-skip of a budding flower shifted to its dried and dead husk, the delightful little meeting had withered to nothing. Where they had stood just a minute before laughing together now the black jaguar was removed. Emmitt and his wife cast worried looks at each other as the pups tugged on their sleeves, begging answers to whatever questions they were asking. Dr. Leuca sucked in a sharp breath and followed their concerned glances to a chair toward the back of the room. Exactly where she feared he would be, Renato was hunched over in his seat, rocking and rocking and rocking with his head between his paws.

_Oh, no no no no no…_ She ran across the room as she chided herself for her distraction. _Stupid panda, stupid! What did you miss?_

“Everyone, please finish your conversations and resume your seats,” she announced quickly as she hurried over to Renato, and waved away the gawking and whispering mammals nearby. “All is fine; please do not crowd. Return to your seats. Discussion will start soon. Thank you.”

The chair creaked rhythmically beneath his trembling and rocking, and between shallow breaths he repeated, “Not the nighthowlers… not the dark… not the nighthowlers… not the dark…”

Dr. Leuca knelt beside the panicking jaguar and spoke to him gently over his hyperventilating. “Renato, I am here. Listen to my voice. Take deep breaths. You can get through this.”

“I d-don’t know… what happened,” he wheezed, his face scrunched and his teeth bared against whatever image he was fighting in his head. “I was okay… it was okay and then… I’m shot! It was gray first, but the d-dark comes… don’t let me be shot… please…”

The predators that were poisoned by the nighthowler serum all experienced similar sensations while under its effects: a sense of intense dread, being disconnected from their actions and their physical selves, losing who they were as individuals, of being drowned in darkness. Dr. Leuca could only assume he was reliving the few moments of clarity he had last year before being consumed by the toxin.

“I know the thought is scary, but you are not in danger,” Dr. Leuca said calmly, and placed a reassuring paw on his shoulder. “You are safe, with friends. Breathe and count. One… two…”

Renato forced himself to stop rocking and took a deep, shuddering breath as he wrapped his arms around himself. “One… t-two… three…”

“That is very good. I am proud of you. Breathe in… and out. Do you have medicine here?” He nodded as he continued to breathe and count. “Do you want to take it? Do you want water?” He shook his head. “Do you want to go to quiet place?” He shook his head again. “Okay… that is fine. You do so well. You take very big step tonight. Do not be disappointed.”

“I was okay,” he said again, and took another deep breath. “I don’t know what happened. I was okay and then…”

“Shh… we do not need to discuss now. Maybe you are overstimulated, or heard something that brought up scary memory. Very common; not your fault. Stay here in the present. Continue deep breaths.”

The room had become quiet and Dr. Leuca was aware of the many sets of eyes watching them. She stood and quickly took stock of the state of the room. Almost everyone that had a seat had returned back to it; some mammals were trying to politely look away from what was going on in the back while others stared shamelessly at the small spectacle. Renato seemed to be coming back to himself.

“Are you better?” Dr. Leuca asked him quietly. “You can say ‘no’ if you are not.”

“I think… I think it’s passing.” He rubbed his tightly clinched eyes with the backs of his paws and blinked away the ensuing dark spots. “I’m okay.”

“Alright… I am going to continue session, but you will let me know if you need me, yes?”

“Yes.” He clasped his paws together in his lap and sat in his seat straighter, as if trying to prove to Dr. Leuca (and himself) that he wouldn’t need her again. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

She shuffled along the row, inching past each seated mammal and excusing herself as she went along. As luck would have it, Kathleen Hoarfrost was sitting nearby. At her chair, Dr. Leuca locked eyes with the older snow leopard for a moment, and silently mouthed the words, “Watch him, please.” Kathleen nodded once in agreement, her mouth pressed in a thin line.

Dr. Leuca was calling on her ally, although she was loathe to ask anyone else to take responsibility for something she should have been able to do herself. She was starting to realize how many mammals were present, and she was only one. It was fortunate that things had gone so well thus far; she had been occupied for only a minute or two and had completely missed Renato’s panic attack. Despite all of her careful planning, she was now acutely aware that she had probably bitten off more than she could chew leading this session alone.

_Keep them engaged and positive,_ she told herself as she smiled at the room from the foot of the stage again. “Thank you all for your waiting! All is okay; one of our friends needed small talk. It is hard sometimes for sensitive ears to hear so much at one time. It is easy to become overwhelmed. Right?” There was a chorus of soft ‘yeses’ and accompanying nods. Dr. Leuca didn’t want to single Renato out, but did want to acknowledge that what had happened was nothing to be ashamed of, and could happen to anyone. “You are very understanding, and I thank you. I hope your conversations went well!”

_It wasn’t Emmitt._ She couldn’t help turning over what he had said, even as she moved on with the session. _Emmitt didn’t trigger the episode. So, what did?_

The first step in overcoming any anxiety disorder was recognizing the stimulus that caused the fear. Dr. Leuca thought maybe a phrase or a word might have caused it, but there were no abrupt or loud noises or out of place phrases that she could remember hearing. Maybe it wasn’t a sound? Maybe it was visual?

“We will take little time now and share what we find in common with each other.”

It had to be sudden. A surprise he was not prepared for. A startle response that spiraled out of control…

_FLASH! A white face thrust between the bamboo stalks. Dark wild eyes and frothing muzzle pulled back from long white teeth… hot breath and a bloodcurdling scream…_

A sharp gasp. _STOP. NOT HERE. NOT-_

“NOW.”

Dr. Leuca’s mind snapped back from the nightmarish image to the room and the lights and the very concerned looking mammals seated in their chairs. She realized with horror that she’d spoken the last word out loud.

_“Stay here in the present” is what you told Renato,_ she reminded herself irately. _Now you do the same. Stop this nonsense._

She made a show of clearing her throat. “Now,” she repeated at a more appropriate volume, and put on the most sickeningly sweet smile she could muster. “Who would like to go first?”

*****

“Why do you do that?”

Melanie blinked out of the memory again and regarded Dr. Buckner’s interrupting question. “Start discussion with volunteers?”

“No… no, I mean why do you talk to yourself like that?” He flipped back a page in his notes and counted spots where he had scribbled. “One… two… three times you said you had started to react ‘negatively,’ and then berated yourself and moved past it.” He dropped the page and looked back at Melanie over the rims of his glasses. “You would never say such things to your patients. Why do you say them to yourself?”

“I am trained,” she said simply and looked away. “I should be able to recognize inappropriate reactions when they occur.”

“Recognize them, certainly, but not scold yourself for having them!” Dr. Buckner threw up his hooves. “You are allowed to feel negatively about anything that bothers you. It’s no simple thing to overwrite negative emotions in real time. I mean… if it were then every mammal would do it and we wouldn’t have jobs! Right?”

He smiled and gave a soft chuckle to show he was joking, but Melanie did not reciprocate the levity. Her face remained impassive.

“It is not funny matter to let patient have panic attack because I am worried over website. This is poor experience. He is in my care. I am responsible.”

_I forgot about the website._ Dr. Buckner took a moment to look over Melanie’s face and body language; she was hunched forward, more and more looking at her paws than at him. Her usual confident, stubborn disposition seemed to be eroding since he had fired the question about her mother at her; it took a further downward turn after recounting the interaction she had with the deer and jaguar. Maybe she knew? Should he broach the subject?

_No,_ he decided. _No… now isn’t the time._

“That incident with the predator wasn’t your fault,” he said, steering the conversation in another direction that he hoped would be more positive. “That could have happened to any other therapist in your position. It has happened to me.”

Her ears flattened against her skull. “I should have supervised the meeting…”

“You can’t be present for every single trying situation that these mammals find themselves,” Dr. Buckner said firmly. “If you hold their paws every time something stresses them, how will they learn to manage on their own? You helped him prepare, and he decided that he was ready. _He_ decided. It was his choice. You said you were proud of him for taking that step. Why aren’t you proud of yourself for letting him?”

Her shoulders slumped a little more. “I should have anticipated…”

“Didn’t you, though? All the walking around, listening for developing conflict, gauging reactions, watching for signs of possible distress? Melanie, you aren’t psychic. You can’t tell the future. I think you have set impossible expectations for yourself. You’re allowed to miss something. You’re allowed to make a mistake.”

“I am trained,” she said again, and rested her forehead on the backs of her clasped paws as she propped her elbows on her knees. “My mistakes have consequence for my patients. I am poor therapist if I do not do everything possible to minimize risk.” She sighed deeply and closed her eyes. “I should have request additional resource for session.”

“You said you didn’t want to change expectations,” Dr. Buckner reminded her.

“Yes… I did say that.” _And you and I both know I do not like to share._ “I still should have.”

“Well, we can talk about that a bit. Yes, perhaps the turnout was greater than projected. But you didn’t shut down when you thought that you might be in over your head a little, right?”

“No… I continued session.”

“That’s right. You continued to serve your patients, even though you were becoming uncomfortable.”

_I probably shouldn’t have, considering…_

“And, as I recall, you did reach out for help, right?” Dr. Buckner continued. “Just a small ask, didn’t you?”

“The teacher, yes…” Melanie frowned, looking up and straight ahead at the wall. “Inappropriate, to burden her.”

Dr. Buckner frowned also. “It wasn’t terribly out of line,” he insisted gently. “She is an educator, so she should have some training of her own regarding psychological matters, albeit more for children. You didn’t ask her to lead the class… just to be an extra set of eyes. Didn’t it help you feel more at ease? You’ve said before that she has provided excellent insight at other sessions.”

“Yes, she has,” Melanie agreed dismally. “She is observant and kind. She is smart. She hides depression so well you forget it is there. To place responsibility on her was unfair of me.”

There was a heavy silence between them while Dr. Buckner digested what she had just told him. The conversation was not going as he expected and he was at a loss as to how he should respond to this new information.

“I see,” he said finally. “I didn’t realize…”

“It was not even being target,” Melanie interrupted, and Dr. Buckner snapped his mouth shut. “Not even when she was at hospital, or learning about the months she could not remember. After all that happened, she tells me, she was only sad she was away from school so long. But when she tried to return to work, and was met with angry parents, angry colleague… can you imagine this? You devote your time—your _life_ —to this thing you love… and then a crowd of mammals say they do not want you anymore?”

_Oh, God… she does know._ Dr. Buckner leaned far to the side, tried to shift himself around to meet her eyes, but she continued to stare at the wall ahead.

“Melanie…”

“She tells me only after she fights tooth and claw to keep being teacher she becomes depressed,” Melanie continued through clenched teeth, ignoring him. “So close she came, to having her purpose taken from her. Because ‘she is predator!’ and ‘what if she hurts a child?’ And she is afraid they will try again to take her students away. She is afraid to not be teacher anymore. She says to me ‘I think I must teach until the day I die, or the day that I stop teaching surely will be the day that I do.’” Her eyes were glistening. “Those two days will always be one and the same… it is sad. It is _so_ sad.”

Melanie’s typically careful words were becoming less so the more they talked, and the more Dr. Buckner turned them over, the more he could see a pattern emerging. All the vaguely precise neutral phrases, all the sentences that were devoid of possessive feeling statements were revealing where her mind was. He thought before that she was purposely trying to avoid saying how she felt; now he thought maybe she was and he just hadn’t understood how the words were being put together.

He was so used to Melanie fighting him, answering all of his questions with questions, deflecting every attempt he made to talk about her and refocusing back on the program and the other mammals that were not his patients. Dr. Buckner had often wondered what it would be like if he could get Melanie to directly answer just one of his questions. Now she was answering almost all of them; it was actually starting to worry him. The once impenetrable shell was cracking apart under the crushing weight of all this emotion she didn’t want to show. For her work; for her patients; for N.I.T.E.

Melanie wasn’t just talking about those other mammals. She wasn’t talking about the teacher anymore. She was talking about herself. Now he was hearing what she was telling him: _I know why the calendar is empty. I know why there are no more N.I.T.E. sessions scheduled._

_I know._

“My father once thought about work the same sort of way,” Dr. Buckner said, trying to spin the conversation again more positively. “He thought he would have nothing to do if he wasn’t working. But then he discovered golf, and began gardening, and my siblings had their calves and he adored them… he said he lived a whole other life after his work was over.” His ears perked as she picked up her head and turned her eyes toward him. “We work so we can live. We should not be living just to work. Don’t you think so?”

_Not even a little._ “I think sometimes a mammal’s work becomes his life,” she answered thickly. “What then, when it ends?”

“It would be a good time to reinvent oneself, or pursue more personal interests,” Dr. Buckner suggested. “For example, I’m sure you have other things you do in your spare time. What does Melanie Leuca do when she is not planning for N.I.T.E. classes?”

Melanie blinked slowly, but didn’t answer. Her expression remained unchanging. Dr. Buckner’s tiny smile wavered.

_Come now, Melanie. Surely there must be something else…?_

_Deedle deedle deet! Deedle deedle deet!_ They both whipped their heads around at the tinny, merry jingle from Dr. Buckner’s desk alarm, reminding them cheerfully that the session would be ending soon and it was time to start wrapping up.

He hit the delay button so hard he thought he absolutely must have broken it.

“We seem to run out of time,” Melanie said.

“Pay it no mind,” Dr. Buckner said quickly. “You’re the last appointment today. It’s fine if we run a little over.”

Melanie gave a dull nod. “Well… I am almost at the end, anyway.”

“You just got past the first exercise.” Dr. Buckner licked his lips tensely. “Did something happen during the discussion?”

“No, first exercise discussion was very good. Many insights, many nice things mammals say about each other. Many new friendships. It was very good.”

“But…?” Dr. Buckner prodded.

Melanie heaved a heavy sigh. “But then new exercise starts, and everything goes backwards.”

“‘Backwards?’” Dr. Buckner reconsidered the sentence. “Do you mean ‘sideways’?” He felt the blood draining from his face as he put it all together. “Everything went sideways?”

“Yes, that is right word,” Melanie agreed and resumed looking down at her paws as she repeated, “Then everything went sideways.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wasn't a fan of Dr. Buckner when I first started writing him but... I think that there may be a little good in him after all. Let's see what happens next chapter.
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed! Feedback, as always, is welcome.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final exercise at the N.I.T.E. class stirs up a heated debate as Robert LeBoare launches into a confrontation with Dr. Leuca and another mammal in the crowd decides it is time to make her presence known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies in advance... I was hoping to get to a very specific scene in this chapter, but it started getting too long and I had to split it. So... sorry for the cliffhanger, and very abbreviated touchpoint in Dr. Buckner's office.
> 
> Then again, there are a few questions that are finally being answered, and another familiar face joins the menagerie.
> 
> Next chapter will mark the halfway point... thanks again for reading, everyone!

“Thank you all for your participation and for sharing with others here,” Dr. Leuca said after the first discussion had concluded. “As you see, we have many wonderful things in common with each other. Remember these shared grounds as we begin next exercise. This exercise is new. Very new; never used in other sessions before. Special conversation for tonight.”

There were a few murmurs in the crowd as Dr. Leuca climbed back up onto the stage where her chair and little table was. She sat down and smiled.

“We begin now. Everyone close your eyes.”

A few of the regular attendees, like Emmitt and Kathleen, obeyed immediately, but it was clear that not everyone liked her request. Many hesitated to do as she asked, and were glancing anxiously around at each other.

“Is all okay,” she assured them. “I will only ask you questions. There will be better response if everyone can be honest, privately. Please. Close your eyes. No peeking.”

One by one, all the mammals closed their eyes and waited for Dr. Leuca to begin the exercise. Eventually, Robert LeBoare was the only one left not complying.

Dr. Leuca gave him a hard glare. “Nearly there, everyone. Only few more peekers left. They may be uncomfortable, but this will require all contribute.” And for the first time that night, she dared to speak to the stubborn pig directly. “If you do not want to participate, then that is okay. But then please step outside. Do not spoil for others here.”

He snorted and looked around the room at the other mammals sitting calmly with their eyes closed. Robert stared back at Dr. Leuca with extreme contempt. With a look of indifference, she motioned toward the door with her paw. _Your move, Robert._

After one last aggravated huff, he folded his arms, slumped down in his seat like a pouting piglet, and finally closed his eyes.

With a cursory look around to make sure there weren’t any other eyes watching her, Dr. Leuca quickly dumped the contents of the little wooden box on the table into her paw and balled her fist up tightly.

_Here we go._

She hurried down off the stage as fast as she could and started a circuit around the room, talking as she went. “We just finish discussing much about good things we have in common. Family, hobbies, favorite books… we all very alike, yes? We all want same things, but sometimes we forget this. We forget what is similar with other mammals different from us.” By this time, she had made a full circle around the room and was back at the stage. “I have just made little walk around. Now I start questions. Remember keep eyes closed and focus on how you feel.”

Dr. Leuca took a deep breath, and took the plunge. “Pretend there is a nighthowler in this room. It is growing in crack, minding own business. Show of paws and hooves: who feels afraid?”

A pretty moderate number of paws shot up into the air, a random mix of predators and prey. Everyone was keeping their eyes shut. So far, so good.

“I appreciate your honesty. There are just few paws and hooves raised. Now, think on your reaction. Why so much fear over little flower? This is not only toxic plant we know. We warn children of the hemlock and yew berries, but they still grow in our parks, in our forests. What are you afraid of? Reflect. If anyone wants to share, they can.”

“It can still hurt me even if I don’t go near it,” a gazelle in the back said tentatively.

“Like, there’s no guarantee someone won’t take it and _do something with it,_ ” an older oryx said from the other side of the room.

“Good, good. So just presence is scary thing. Because of hurt suffered before, we think how _other_ mammals might use dangerous thing. Do you think others that see nighthowler want to use it like terrorists did?” The hooves and paws started to sink back down a little bit. “We just finish discussing how alike we are. Do you think maybe other mammals have same concern you do? Do others go out and think they want to hurt another with nighthowler today?”

It was interesting to watch their faces change; even those who didn’t have their arms raised were making thoughtful grimaces, nose twitches, and muzzle lifts as they considered these words.

“Okay, all paws and hooves down. We think now nighthowler is taken from little crack. It is given to you. Who is afraid of nighthowler now?”

Not a single paw or hoof went up.

“So, this is interesting… no one raises paws. As long as you are holding it, there is no fear. Why?”

“ _I_ know not to eat it!” the hyena that had spoken earlier to Helen burst out. There were a few chuckles around the room.

Dr. Leuca smiled. This was really going well. “Yes, very good. You do not fear the dangerous thing given to you. It is not dangerous in _your_ paws, is it? But what if it is not given to you. It is given to a mammal that you spoke with before. A friend holds it. Are you afraid?”

No one moved. “Good, so everyone still is feeling safe. A friend would not hurt you with nighthowler. What if it is given instead to another random mammal, you do not see where. What then? Who is afraid?”

More mammals than she could count put their paws and hooves up. “Many arms raised. So when we do not know where nighthowler has gone, we are very uncomfortable. Now you see it given to another mammal you do not know. A prey mammal. Are you still afraid?”

Many lowered their arms back down. It seemed that the only ones who had kept their paws up—with very few exceptions—were predators.

“Few afraid. What if not prey mammal? A predator. How about now?”

Significantly more raised, although it appeared that many mammals were a bit reluctant to admit their feelings even to themselves. In the end, at least half the room, maybe more. Even a few predators had their paws up. A year later, and still a good deal of personal general bias towards the predator family as a whole was present. It was not really a surprise, though Dr. Leuca was hoping for a bit of a better outcome considering all the time that was spent in the past year trying to uproot this ugly mental weed.

“Alright, no more questions,” Dr. Leuca said as she stepped back onto the stage and sat in her chair. “Arms down, everyone, and eyes open. There is much to discuss.”

Everyone’s eyes opened to a room that looked very much the same as it was before the exercise, except the mammals were glancing around at each other, trying to gauge expressions and reactions, who answered which question how. There were many guilty faces.

“Someone tell me what is reason we have this exercise,” she said. There was an uneasy silence for a little while as mammals shifted in their seats, looking around expectantly and waiting for someone else to speak about the clear purpose of the exercise that they had just finished.

A young beaver raised a tentative paw. “To think about how we judge certain mammals as opposed to others?” she said nervously.

“This is good summary. Do you think went well?”

She shrugged and answered, “Probably not?”

“No? Why do you think so?”

“Because we’re having this discussion.”

“Well, this is true. But to be fair, we would talk about exercise anyway.” Dr. Leuca looked around the rest of the room solemnly. “I ask for eyes closed so you each can self-discover own bias without influence from other mammals. It is important to be aware of these feelings. First step in changing perception and moving past is to admit to yourself. But think now, and be honest: if I asked you last question with rest of room watching, would you have answered truthfully?”

Absolute silence. Not a single sound. There wasn’t an ear twitch or a tail swish among them. The stillness was unnerving.

“It’s like a reflex.” It was the same beaver as before that spoke again, and Dr. Leuca watched her pull her tail up into her lap and run her paw over it thoughtfully. A large chunk was missing. “You tell yourself not to feel that way because it’s not right, but then it happens anyway, and you know it’s illogical, but still the fear is there. How do you break a bad habit that happens as fast as a thought?”

Dr. Leuca bowed respectfully. “Thank you, for being brave and honest. You say a thing that is hard to say. The answer is: with awareness, and with practice. Much practice here, this past year. So now, we will work on more together.” She stood and tucked her arms casually behind her back. “There _is_ a nighthowler in this room right now. Since before exercise starts, when I walk around. Someone here holds it.”

The commotion that followed her statement was not unexpected, though it was a bit rowdier than she thought it would be. All ears were up, and it seemed all eyes were wide and dilated. Questions started to fly so quickly that Dr. Leuca didn’t have time to see who asked them.

From somewhere in the standing crowd. “You’re joking, right?”

“I am not.”

Somewhere else, the other side of the room. “Where? Who has it?”

“Does it matter?”

Directly in front of her. “Yes!”

“Why?” The commotion lulled from her pointed question. She let it sink in for a few moments before continuing. “We have had very nice session whole time in presence of nighthowler. No one here is savage. Why does it matter who holds it?”

This was her favorite part of these classes. Watching the fireworks go off, the thinking and reconsidering minds changing, turning over and having new explosive realizations. Risky, this method tonight, but it seemed it was about to pay off.

“We talk much about nighthowler,” Dr. Leuca went on. “It caused much hurt, much sadness that many mammals still try to recover from. But nighthowler was just used as catalyst. The root of crisis last year is not danger of the flower. It is danger of finding ourselves judging unfairly. We assume to know each other at a glance, based on species bias and stereotype rather than knowing true character of a mammal.

“Find the ones you spoke with tonight. Does it matter if nighthowler is in their paws?” As everyone’s glances started darting around the room, she brought her own paws back out in front of her. “Does it matter if it is in the paws of the mammal next to you? Or stranger across the room?”

“ _Or in yours?_ ”

Dr. Leuca held her breath at the sound of that voice; her heart sank while her hackles immediately went up. She so hoped that the class tonight would be able to end without interruption from Robert LeBoare, but it seemed that was not the case. She regarded him, still sitting half slouched in his seat, glaring, with his arms crossed indignantly. Dr. Leuca did her best to keep the expression on her face one of disinterest rather than distaste.

“When it no longer matters who has it,” she said coolly, “I will tell you where it is.”

Robert sneered. “I’m right, aren’t I? It’s there in your fist, isn’t it?”

They stared daggers at each other. Many seconds ticked by until eventually Dr. Leuca sighed. No reason to continue now. The ending was ruined before the ‘aha’ moment that she had been so hoping for. The attention had shifted from an internal to an external exchange and there was no possibility of resuming the previous dialogue now that the crucial point had been exposed prematurely.

With extreme reluctance, she uncurled her paw to reveal to the room the little blossom, so intensely, so _absurdly_ blue. She picked it carefully from her paw pads and held it in front of her so it could be better seen. “Ah, I am discovered,” Dr. Leuca said lightly. “Here is nighthowler, as you say. Well done.” She tossed the flower onto the table behind her unceremoniously, unable to reign in her disappointment at this outcome.

“Yes, very well done,” Kathleen remarked from the back crossly. “Of course she was holding it. I daresay others here also came to that conclusion, but had the good taste to keep it to themselves. There was no reason to wreck the ending, except to be unpleasant. What a shame.”

“Not that I’m surprised,” Robert said, ignoring Kathleen’s comment. “For all the lofty talk, even you wouldn’t put a _supposedly_ dangerous material in the paws of a mammal with any sort of killer instinct.”

There was an assortment of disapproving noises from the room—from simple _tsk tsks_ to rumbling growls—as most of the predators took immediate offense to the insinuation that the pig was making. Dr. Leuca took offense, as well, though for a different reason: he implied that the nighthowler never left her paws because she did not trust a predator to hold it, which simply was not the case. She very much would have liked to have the flower be held and passed around the room, equally handled by all the mammals present, but… well, it was ill advised, and not for the reason that Robert was suggesting.

“That is not purpose of new exercise,” Dr. Leuca said, narrowing her eyes at him. “I would not ask anyone to handle a thing that scares them. ‘Instinct’ has nothing to do with reason flower remains here with me. Nighthowler effect is same on all mammals, predator or prey. We have discussed this many times.”

“It’s funny how every single study that has come out about that stupid flower all say the same exact thing, almost word for word,” Robert said derisively. “Strange that there have been _zero_ studies done of the effects on a prey mammal yet, even a year later. Why would that be, I wonder? Would it ruin the perfect little narrative that they’ve concocted?”

Dr. Leuca closed her eyes and rubbed her temple wearily. “Nighthowler is poisonous, and effects have not yet been fully examined. New information is discovered every month about potential dangers. To test on _any_ mammal would be too unsafe.”

“How convenient,” Robert scoffed. “You know what else I find convenient? How literally all of those rubbish studies were either written by predators or sponsored by pro-predator interest groups. You want to talk about bias? I’d say that they had a pretty vested interest in how their so-called _findings_ were spun, wouldn’t you?”

The conversation was quickly becoming toxic, and though Dr. Leuca hated to let the session end on such a sour note, the most sensible thing to do would be to dismiss the group and remove Robert’s audience from his intolerant ranting. But first, she decided to take a little wind out of his sails; maybe if she was lucky he would settle down under sound logic and keep quiet until she could end the class properly.

“You suggest that there is another reason for the attacks,” she said flatly. “What has been reported and studied and proven by many different independent organizations is true nature of nighthowler. Effects are even observed in insects. This is defense mechanism; this is how it keeps from being eaten. Neurotoxin increases aggression response. Animal moves away from flower that was being eaten and attacks other living things nearby that might do same. This ensures survival of parent plant. Despite not being tested formally, incidents of accidental ingestion by prey have been recorded. Changes in behavior were similar. There is nothing that nighthowler does to a predator that it does not also do to prey.”

“Complete hogwash,” Robert said, and stood from his chair. “And I’m not taking the word of a friend of a friend of a friend regarding this. Fact is preds have aggression hardwired in ‘em. If that flower does anything at all, it just brings that base instinct to the fore. That’s the truth of it.”

“Robert, you are saying hurtful things that are not true. We are all evolved here.”

“Well… some of us are more evolved than others.”

_And no doubt you think you exemplify that statement, don’t you?_ Dr. Leuca took a deep breath; she felt herself coming dangerously close to baring her teeth. “This is not place to argue science; this is place for healing.”

His eyes lit up with fury. “How’s _any mammal_ supposed to heal in the presence of these would-be savages?”

Dr. Leuca’s face darkened, as did the faces of many of the other mammals present. He was pushing all the right buttons tonight. “That is enough,” she said, and her usually pleasant voice was low, laced in warning. “Everyone here has been very tolerant of your unkind words, but now this will stop.”

Robert barked out a harsh laugh. “Figures! Every predator here has the chance to hem and haw about anything they want, but prey like me that want to voice another side aren’t given the time of day!”

“You have had enough time to say what you like. Now sit and allow me to continue, otherwise…” Dr. Leuca trailed off as Robert turned and started stalking angrily toward the back door. She made no move to stop him, nor did anyone else. Maybe she had gotten lucky, after all. She would have ended the session before kicking him out—it simply was not a precedent she was willing to set—but if he left of his own accord then she could turn the conversation back around and end more positively.

But Robert did not leave out the door when he reached it. Instead, he pulled what looked like a loop of cable from his pants pocket and threaded it through the handles.

Dr. Leuca heartbeat quickened. She heard the wail in her ears rise immediately and she jumped down off the stage before she knew entirely why. “Robert, what are you…?”

He didn’t answer and it didn’t quite register what he was doing until she heard the unmistakable _click_ of a lock being secured. She was just passing the middle of the center aisle when her nose was flooded from all sides by the potent scent of fear.

Robert LeBoare had just locked the doors of a room filled with frightened animals.

“You’ve cleared the room on me before,” he said to Dr. Leuca accusingly as he turned and started back down the aisle towards her. It was true; she had ended sessions early twice before when he began spouting the same type of tirade as he had tonight. “I intend to have my say here, and no one’s leaving until I do.”

“You are making rash decision,” Dr. Leuca said with as much calm as she could muster while he came menacingly closer toward her. Her heart was drumming a wild, frantic backdrop to the wailing that was in her ears. They kept twitching, trying to silence the unwanted cacophony, but it just flared back up again each time they stilled. “This is unnecessary measure you take. Please unlock…”

He wheeled on the rest of the room, ignoring her gentle plea completely. He was obviously not interested in anything she had to say to him any longer. “SAM WAGNER!” he bellowed, now searching the crowd of mammals for one in particular. “I know you’re here. You were hiding from me all during that stupid exercise, but I can smell you, you skulking cur. Come out right now and face me.”

_Oh God…_ It was worse than she imagined. He wasn’t just here to debate speciest philosophies. He wanted a confrontation. Specifically, a confrontation with the wolf who had mauled his brother. The wolf named Samuel Wagner.

“Robert, there is no need for this tonight,” Dr. Leuca implored him. She felt the situation careening out of her control. The fretting mammals were fidgeting uncomfortably; they were essentially caged together in a place where a conflict was escalating and they were being forced to witness it. “You do not have to keep everyone here…”

“NO ONE IS LEAVING UNTIL I SPEAK TO HIM,” Robert exploded, spinning on her as he did so. Dr. Leuca flinched, but still stood her ground; he looked like he was moments from crossing the line into physical violence. His face had become a horrible mix of impatience, rage, and… sorrow?

As the pig and the panda faced off in the middle of the aisle, a short, resigned sigh came from the back of the room. “Alright, ladies,” said a voice that did not have an immediately obvious owner. “It’s okay. Thanks for your help, but I think the jig is up. Better to just let him have it out and be done with it.”

Everyone turned toward the back where the voice seemed to come from. From between the young hippo and elephant seated on the sturdy benches, directly behind the chair where Kathleen was sitting, the wolf named Sam Wagner stood with great effort.

A sweet, gray timber wolf who had often volunteered with youth groups before the Nighthowler Incident, Sam’s once powerful form was now merely a shell of its former physique. His face was gaunt and sunken, with flattened ears that hardly ever perked up anymore. He leaned heavily on a simple wooden cane in his left paw; his paw was wrapped around with a string of red prayer beads all the way up his wrist. They clinked and pinged against the cane as he limped up the row on scarred, misshapen legs too thin from lack of use.

Kathleen turned and gently grabbed his arm before he moved too far away from her. “Sam, you don’t have to do this.”

“It’s fine, Kathy,” he replied, and he patted her paw before he pushed it away. “Robert has something he needs to say. The sooner he does, the sooner we all can go home.”

He made it to the end of the row and perched himself at the very edge of the bench. The other mammals scooted back to give him more room, and also presumably distance themselves from a situation that was fast intensifying.

“Standing is a chore, so I’m going to sit.” Sam sounded remarkably calm considering the ire that was being aimed in his direction. He rested his chin atop his paws atop the head of his cane. He sniffed the air and wrinkled his muzzle. “I’m surprised you can smell anything in all this panic scent with that little button you call a nose.”

Robert bared his teeth in a grimace that might have been mistaken for a smile if it weren’t for the fierce look in his eyes. “My family is awfully adept at sniffing out _fungus_ like you.”

Sam groaned wearily. “Twenty-seven.”

Dr. Leuca didn’t understand his response, and apparently neither did Robert because the tiniest bit of confusion flickered across his furious face. “What?”

“That’s how many times I’ve heard that particular insult since moving next to that _delightful_ brother of yours. I took to counting as a way to make light of the constant verbal abuse my mate and I have had to endure.”

Robert’s eyes flashed dangerously. “You have no right to speak ill of Trevor after what you did to him, you mangy sack of fur.”

“Forty-two.”

“YOU THINK YOU’RE _FUNNY_?” Robert roared, and took a threatening two steps toward the sitting wolf. Sam didn’t move, but Dr. Leuca did. Although she and Robert were comparably tall he was at least twice as heavy, so when she rushed in front of him she braced herself for a painful impact. It was a relief when he stopped just short of her and did not continue his advance; he certainly would have knocked her over if he had. His face was so close that she could smell the salad dressing on his breath.

“Get out of the way,” he growled.

_FLASH! “Get out of my way, you miserable disgrace! How dare you embarrass me like this!”_

The sharp words cut like a hot blade through Dr. Leuca’s mind, reopening a wound that she thought had been sealed up many, many moons ago. She shook her head hard to clear them away in lieu of the present ugliness. This was not the time to be fighting old demons when new ones were standing so near.

“I said, ‘get out of the way,’” Robert repeated. “This isn’t about you.”

“You come to my class and you make it place that is no longer safe,” Dr. Leuca said sternly, and put out her arms. “This is as much about me, about Sam, about every other mammal here. All this threats are unnecessary. You want to speak, speak. Do not move any closer to him again.”

Robert snorted. “My therapist was right… no courtesy for the prey, only for the preds. You hurry to protect this savage, and I get no consideration for what he did to my brother and my family. He gets to just walk free, living his life—”

“What life is that?” Sam interrupted bitterly, leaning out to the side a little so he could still see the irate pig. “The life where I can’t feel my paws anymore? The life where I can barely get dressed or bathe by myself? The life where I had to close my business because I can’t do the work? Is that the life you’re talking about?”

Before the Nighthowler Incident, Sam ran a small business—a clothing outlet called Shear and Shear Alike—out of his house in the Meadowlands. He produced warm clothing for hot climate mammals to use in Tundratown. The very reason that he and his mate had moved to the small property next to Trevor LeBoare was so he could be closer to the sheep and alpacas and llamas that supplied his business with material. Since more than half of the finer quality fleeces were also used to make donated hats and swaddling clothes for premature newborns, the mammals that set themselves to the shears were more than happy to take advantage of the tax break and the philanthropy points for doing business with him. He was forced to close his little shop down after he was injured. It was a heavy blow to him, and was one of the many reasons he rarely ventured out of his house at all anymore.

“Fresh air is too good for you,” Robert spat. “You oughtta be in a cage, you… you…” If he had another insult lined up, he didn’t have the chance to use it before Kathleen decided that she could hold her tongue no longer.

“You should see yourself, Robert,” she said disapprovingly. “Enormous boar like you, red in the face, spewing all these horrible words… bullying a broken wolf. You should be ashamed.”

Leave it to Kathleen to reveal the true heart of things. At first glance, one might just see a wolf and a pig arguing with each other. Difficult to see the pig as the aggressor in that circumstance. But, taking into account Robert’s immense mass, his aggressive stance against a much smaller, much thinner, and decidedly non-threatening wolf told a much different story. The one classically colored as vicious was not the one behaving that way right now.

Robert turned on her angrily. “You _animals_ always rush to defend each other, don’t you? Do you even know what he did?”

“Of course I do,” Kathleen said. “But let’s be reasonable here. Look at you! You weigh at least five hundred pounds, and your brother is even heavier. Sam is a hundred pounds, maybe, soaking wet.”

“That’s a generous estimate, Kathy,” Sam chimed in wryly.

“Even when he was whole and healthy,” Kathleen continued, “picking a physical fight with Trevor… that’s not a fight that a wolf wins alone. You see clearly that Sam did not make it out unscathed. He was hurt almost as badly, and all your brother had to do was roll on him! You imply that Sam should be held accountable for what injuries he caused, but he was _not present_ from the moment he was darted, or else he never would have attacked Trevor in the first place.”

“You hated him,” Robert snarled at Sam rather than address Kathleen’s very rational argument. “That’s why you were so brutal, tore him up more than anyone else.”

“This is not contest to see who is most hurt, Robert,” Dr. Leuca interjected, but it didn’t seem anyone was listening to her anymore; they were just talking at each other, around her, like she wasn’t there.

“You nearly ripped his lungs out.”

Sam sighed. “So I have been repeatedly reminded.”

“You don’t even _care_!”

“Look, I attacked him _once_ , when I was drugged and driven from my right mind. He attacked me _incessantly_ for years, freely, and still very much himself,” Sam argued, and then barked out a joyless laugh. “For heaven’s sake, Trevor was the one that came to _my_ house, violated the protection order I had against him! All just to get up in my face about whatever savage incident just happened. Kept yelling that I only moved there so I could be closer to all the ‘delicious entrees.’ I remember calling the police on _him_ once he started swinging, and then… nothing else.”

Robert pointed an accusing hoof at Sam. “Zero ownership for the pain you caused. For what you did—”

“What happened was not Sam’s fault!” Dr. Leuca said earnestly. “I tell you this is what nighthowler does!”

“I imagine it’s what drowning must be like,” Sam said softly, and there was a clicking in his throat as he squeezed his eyes shut to keep the tears in. “I fell into a dark place where I couldn’t even remember my own name, and I woke up in _traction_.” When he opened his eyes again, Dr. Leuca saw fight in them. “The nightmare followed me—follows me _still—_ and I don’t think you will ever appreciate what that feels like.”

“And how Trevor felt doesn’t matter?” Robert asked, grinding his teeth so hard Dr. Leuca thought they might break. “Is that it?”

This was going nowhere, and Dr. Leuca was becoming more and more concerned about the panicking mammals still doing their best to remain calm and seated in a locked room with a raving boar.

“Robert, _please_ ,” Dr. Leuca begged again. “Enough now. This is clearly conversation meant for private. Open the door and let others go home. I can arrange meeting another time with your counselor and your brother if you… want…”

Her words trailed as he turned in her direction. He shot her a look so poisonous it surely would have killed any smaller mammal. “My brother is _dead._ ”

The last word fell like a sledgehammer, and the already strained tension in the room reached its breaking point. There were more than a few gasps, high-pitched whines from the canines in the room, and two of the children began to cry. Dr. Leuca wished that the earth would split open and swallow her whole.

There hadn’t been a death. It was the only good thing—the only saving grace—of the crisis. The thinnest of silver linings. And in the time it took to blink it had just been obliterated.

That wasn’t to say that no one had died during the Nighthowler Incident, just that the deaths that had been recorded were considered more… incidental. One elderly tiger had suffered a heart attack caused by exposure to the serum, it was later discovered, and collapsed almost immediately without any other mammals being hurt. He had died on the way to the hospital. A young buck was killed by a car when he spooked himself and fled into rush hour traffic. A pregnant lioness had miscarried her litter due to injuries she sustained after she was darted. Unfortunate. Regrettable. Clinical. But no animal—predator or prey—had been killed by a savage mammal, or had died as a direct result of injuries inflicted during a savage mammal attack.

That is… until now.

“Wh-What?” Sam stammered. His eyes had gone dull, and there was a sound like gulping in his throat. He looked like he was going to be sick. “What did you say?”

“You heard me,” Robert said, hurling his words like a spear. “ _Murderer_.”

Robert’s verbal assault finally landed a crushing blow, and Dr. Leuca watched all Sam’s hard work evaporate. All the weeks he spent being reassured and trying to convince himself that he was not a horrible mammal for the thing that he had done. Because of the thing that _had been done_ to him. He had just barely started to believe again that his life was still worth living. All that progress… gone.

Sam closed his eyes and bowed his head, drawing his prayer beads close to his chest. “God and Goddess,” he prayed beneath his breath, heard only by those closest to him, “be my light where darkness resides. Be my path when I lose my way…”

Dr. Leuca’s heart broke to see Sam withdrawing, no longer the assertive wolf that he had finally become with all his perseverance. She regarded Robert with disgust, but also with the tiniest grain of understanding. So this was why he had come tonight. He was grieving and angry, and lashing out at the mammal that he blamed for his brother’s death.

“Deepest sympathies to your family, Robert,” she managed to say around the barbs she felt pricking at her tongue. “I am sorry for your loss.”

Robert snorted. “Save it. I’m not looking for an apology from _you_.”

Polite pretenses dropped. “So, this is what you want?” Dr. Leuca asked, and now she didn’t bother hiding her anger. “You want Sam apologize for thing that happened to him? To say he is responsible for what he was forced to do? I will not have it, no! It is not his fault!”

“He killed my brother. Trevor is _dead_. Because of _him._ ” Robert pointed a condemning cloven hoof at the still praying wolf. “Because of his savagery. He’ll never see a minute of jailtime for it. I can’t even sue him. I should get something. I’ll settle for an admission of guilt.”

“Your price too high,” Dr. Leuca said firmly, and indicated the door handles wrapped around with the cable lock. “Class is over. Open the door now and let mammals here go home. You discuss with your counselor different path to the closure you seek.”

“No.” Robert planted his feet and crossed his arms in sheer defiance. “And I will stand here as long as it takes to get what I’m owed.”

Dr. Leuca was beside herself. She had run out of words to use to convince Robert LeBoare to abandon this path that was not leading to balance for _anyone._ Not him, not Sam, not any of the other mammals stuck in the room with them… and not her, either.

And just when she thought that things couldn’t possibly get any worse…

“Hi there!”

A voice far too cheerful piped up from somewhere, but it sounded so small and was gone so quickly that Dr. Leuca had trouble pinpointing its location. Both she and Robert whipped their heads around, trying to find where it had come interrupting from.

“Hello, excuse me! Eyes down here, please!”

Without the direction, Dr. Leuca doubted very much she would have thought to look down at her feet. The owner of the light voice was indeed there, a very small mammal in a dark sweatshirt with the hood drawn up and paws stuck deep in the pouch pocket. All Dr. Leuca could see clearly was a little nose sticking out from the shadows the hood cast.

“Now far be it from me to interrupt anyone’s therapy,” the mammal said, “but this has gone far enough. It seems the good doctor here is trying to bring the session to a close and you, sir, are preventing that. Surely, you don’t want to stand here all night when you should be with your family. Right?”

“Why don’t you mind your own _business_ , little rat?” Robert went to shove her aside (it sounded like a female voice) with his massive leg, but the small mammal was too quick and leapt far out of his range. Much farther than she should have been able to jump. Unless, of course, she was a very particular species.

The hood fell around her neck. Up popped two very long black tipped ears. Gray fur and big buck teeth. A pretty face with eyes that were a bright, ridiculous shade of violet.

Renato’s panic attack suddenly made sense. Dr. Leuca felt her heart do a somersault in her chest as murmurs sprang up from the crowd around her. _What on earth is_ she _doing here??_

“I’ll start again,” the rabbit said, and held her tiny badge above her head. “Officer Judy Hopps, ZPD. Why don’t we try this a different way?” _How is she so confident?_ “It seems you have created a fire hazard by locking that door with an unauthorized device. At this point, you are coming dangerously close to unlawful restraint, and it’s a wonder that the fine mammals in this room haven’t taken action against you for that. This can still end well enough. Why don’t we let everyone head home, hmm?”

“The famous Officer Hopps!” Robert cawed boorishly. “Threatening _me_ with arrest when there is a _murderer_ sitting right there! If this isn’t the epitome of injustice, I don’t know what is.” He threw up his arms in frustration. “And you a prey mammal! Just whose side are you on, rabbit?”

Officer Hopps removed her paws from her pocket and squared her shoulders in preparation for a possible fight. “I am on the side of the city and all the good mammals in it, regardless of what family they belong to.”

“You say that, but clearly you’re favoring the savage lot now, aren’t you? Ludicrous! When the police won’t remove the threats from Zootopia, what protection do prey have left?!”

“Sir, you seem to be grossly misinformed,” Officer Hopps said sharply, “so I will reiterate the very simple, very _true_ information that was already advised to you tonight: predators are no more dangerous than any prey mammal. The nighthowler serum was strategically used _only_ on predatory mammals to create a state of division and panic in this city to further the ambitions of a very disturbed sheep. It is unfortunate and sad that your brother is dead. On behalf of the ZPD, I offer my sincerest condolences. But make no mistake about it: the wolf here is not to blame. My uncle attacked my mother when they were kids after eating a nighthowler and he nearly bit her arm off.” She drew a long line down her forearm with her claw to indicate the approximate length of the wound. “Twenty-two stitches. That’s a lot for a rabbit. So, you can take this as a fact: if _you_ had been exposed to that serum instead of this wolf here, then _you_ would have been the one that attacked your brother.”

Robert reeled like he had just been sucker punched. “That’s preposterous! It’s not true at all!”

“Carbon copy reaction.”

“But I _loved_ my brother!”

A voice rang out from the seats. “You think I _wanted_ to claw up my mom’s face?”

Another one, the lion in the corner. “I could have killed my baby boy… I love him more than life! You think I would hurt him on purpose?”

“ _My wife._ ” Dr. Leuca knew that voice. She didn’t remember seeing Ethan’s face in the crowd, but there he was suddenly standing among the group without seats. “I love her so much, and I ruined her… I never would have attacked her like I did.”

_They are rallying._ Dr. Leuca finally saw the tables turning as the waves of fear scent began to ebb and the mammals were no longer paralyzed. The buzzing room was again awash with support for each other.

“I had no idea…”

“I can’t imagine being forced to hurt my sister…”

“I don’t know what I’d do if that had happened to me…”

Robert cast his eyes around a room full of mammals that had just decided to take a side, and that side was not his. His arguments seemed to have lost all their bite.

“You still have a chance to make this right, sir.” The rabbit police officer was talking at him again. “What do you say?”

He looked behind him at the lock he had placed, and again back at the cop and the doctor denying him the small consolation he asked for the loss of his sibling. _No justice for Trevor… no justice for my little brother…_

Robert’s eyes shifted past them and caught a glimpse of something at the front of the room. Small, harmless thing standing out so boldly from the drab backdrop of the beige wall. It called to him with a Siren’s voice.

“You are _wrong_ ,” he growled at Officer Hopps. “We are not the same. I’m _not_ the same as him.” He brushed past Dr. Leuca with conviction and stormed toward the stage. “And I’m gonna prove it.”

He never imagined that clarity would be colored such a striking shade of blue.

*****

 “You are quiet.”

Melanie’s stomach was twisted in knots recounting the altercation between Sam and Robert, and she had just been rambling on and on. She didn’t realize until that moment that there hadn’t been much input from Dr. Buckner in quite a while. And there was certainly a lot to comment on.

He had stopped his scribbling altogether, and was listening to her at stiff attention. It came as no surprise that the look on his face was one of alarm.

“I didn’t… want to interrupt you at such a critical juncture,” Dr. Buckner said, his voice sounding decidedly evasive. “Please don’t stop. I need to hear how this ends.”

Melanie raised an eyebrow. _You_ need _to?_

Never before had he extended one of their appointments to hear _more_ about what had happened at a N.I.T.E. class. Then again, considering where this was heading, it made sense not to end their session before she’d reached the conclusion. Still… peculiar sentence.

If Melanie didn’t know better, she would have thought it very suspicious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, Judy! So glad you came to join the party!
> 
> Feedback, as always, is most welcome, especially given the content of this chapter. Uncomfortable topics, really... so I hope that I did them justice. I'm sure I can count on you to let me know.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The N.I.T.E. session turns deadly as Robert LeBoare threatens to consume a nighthowler blossom to prove that prey mammals are inherently unaffected by its toxin. As the room begins to fall to panic, it is up to Dr. Leuca and Officer Hopps to find a way to bring the crisis situation back to order before someone gets killed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sings* Judy's got a guuuuun...
> 
> Okay everyone, it's Labor Day here so I am posting the bittersweet fruits of my recent labors. After two rewrites, two deleted scenes, and another four(ish?) drafts, I think this is about where it needs to be. Since it started to again become unwieldy, Dr. Buckner and Melanie's touchpoint gets its own chapter, so you all get two chapters today instead of one. Aren't you lucky? ;)
> 
> Trigger warnings for those that need them (there are a few):  
> ~self harm mention/brief description  
> ~gun violence/threat of violence (those of you who may have an issue with the concept of guns in Zootopia, consider yourselves advised)  
> ~suicidal thoughts/references  
> ~AAAANGST
> 
> Hang on tight... it's a rough ride.
> 
> Enjoy.

The next few moments seemed to pass in slow motion as Robert stomped past Dr. Leuca, not in the direction of the door, but the stage. The stage where she had left the blue flower that he insisted was harmless, that everyone else knew was not. She grasped at him desperately, but her claws only just grazed the back of his shirt as he picked up momentum and barreled onward.

Officer Hopps was quicker, but was also further away from him with the distance now growing. Seeing clearly where he was headed, she stopped her pursuit a few feet from the stage and shouted, “Freeze!” just as Robert jumped the ledge. The stage shook with a resounding _thud_ , and he grabbed the nighthowler from the table it had been resting so innocently on in the same moment that Officer Hopps drew her gun.

“Drop the weapon, or I will shoot!” Officer Hopps warned, and put the pig-shaped target in her sights.

There was hysteria in the seats, with mammals grasping at each other and springing to their feet, desperate to move away from the center aisle where the police officer was aiming her gun, and away from the front of the room where a massive and overwrought boar was brandishing a flower so deadly it could kill everyone around him.

Dr. Leuca saw in an instant every way this was about to go horribly wrong, and it wasn’t Robert eating the flower that had her most terrified. The thought of a savage boar was not the thing that had her mind flying into panic. That was not what would kill most of the mammals in the room.

_Stampede._

The instinct to survive could be an ugly thing. If/when Robert put the nighthowler to his mouth, the police officer would be forced to act. He wouldn’t even have the time to become a mindless beast; the gun would be fired and he would be dead. While Officer Hopps focused on the single threat straight ahead, Dr. Leuca concentrated on the threats that surrounded them. The apparently neutralized danger would create a hundred others as terror spread like a plague through the room. The smaller mammals, the slower mammals— _Oh God, the children_ —would get trampled as everyone clamored for the only exit. Still locked, more would be crushed under the mass of so many bodies pressing against it, trying to escape.

Dr. Leuca’s eyes darted everywhere as she approached Officer Hopps’ position, taking in the number of small versus medium versus large mammals, the number of young, the size of the door, the approximate amount of time she had left. She didn’t want to estimate the number of corpses there would be. Another crisis. A _worse_ crisis. And it would be all her fault.

_No no no no no. Think, stupid bear! You have seconds only. Make them count. What must be done? Calm them down… keep the gun from firing… and keep Robert…_

“—just a flower for prey mammals! I’ll volunteer! I’ll show you!”

“Sir, I am authorized to use deadly force if you don’t put that nighthowler down _right now_!”

 _…talking._ Yes, of course. If the only other ammunition at her disposal was her words, then she would fire every last one that she had. Before her plan was completely formed, she had her paw wrapped around the muzzle of the gun.

Officer Hopps jerked in surprise, and threw all her weight into pulling her weapon back (carefully, she very nearly fired it) from Dr. Leuca, to no avail. “Doctor, what are you doing?!” she demanded.

“He can be reasoned with,” Dr. Leuca replied, just loud enough for Officer Hopps to hear. She kept watching Robert as he continued ranting on the stage. “I am sure.”

Another hard tug. She even planted one rabbit foot against the huge black paw for more leverage. “He’s had enough chances…”

“Then give me one.” Officer Hopps looked up to see wide, pleading brown eyes above her. “One chance. Please.” _Let me fix my mistake._

 _Argh… I hate when they give me that face._ Violet eyes darted from the panda to the pig and back again. With the situation quickly heading downhill, it didn’t make sense to give the belligerent boar any more time to make the huge, irredeemable mistake he was pledging to make. On the other paw, Officer Hopps wasn’t keen on the thought of dropping him, either. That really wasn’t why she had come to the class tonight, after all.

With an aggravated sigh, she set her foot back on the floor and opted to toe a softer line. “Two minutes,” she said, and poked Dr. Leuca’s paw emphatically. The gun was released. “And I reserve the right to shoot if I deem it necessary.”

“It will not be, I assure you,” Dr. Leuca said, her voice smothered in grateful relief.

She mentally checked one item off her list. With little time to lose, the most important thing now even before dealing with Robert was keeping the room from deteriorating into complete chaos. It was already in a state of compounding confusion, and if it wasn’t quieted then it would soon be lost.

Dr. Leuca cast a quick glance at the back of the hall and for the second time that night the solution came to her in the form of Kathleen Hoarfrost. Rather than fall to panic, the teacher was methodically starting to move children to the back behind the hippo and the elephant that she had befriended earlier. By far the largest mammals in the room, they were standing in front of the corner to form a barricade. It wasn’t very big, but it was enough to give the young some protection if things did get any worse.

In a moment of imminent crisis, she chose to protect what she loved the most in the world.

 _Kathleen, you are brilliant. I need more allies like you,_ Dr. Leuca thought, and in that same instant an idea struck her like a lightning bolt. _And why can’t I have them, when there are so many good mammals here? If they will just stick together and help each other…_

Over the bleats and sobs and whines and the ranting Robert, Dr. Leuca yelled behind her, “Everyone, please do not panic! You put yourself and others in danger! Stay calm, and stay still!”

She didn’t think she could be heard over the clamor, but she was granted a little help in that regard, as well. To accompany her request, the elephant’s trumpet sounded so loudly that everyone, even Robert, stopped what they were doing to take notice.

“Thank you, Evelyn,” Kathleen said with a pat on her new friend’s trunk, and then shouted at the rest of the mammals now standing stone still, “Listen to Dr. Leuca! Stay where you are!”

 _Make them all into allies._ “I know you are afraid, but you are not afraid alone. So if you are scared, stand now and take your neighbor’s paw. Take their hoof, and stand together. This is your herd now. This is your pack. Keep each other safe, and trust that you will be kept safe in return. Robert has made mistake, but this will not become violent.” Dr. Leuca turned fully back to the stage and locked eyes with him. “Right, Robert?”

The nighthowler was clasped in his hoof and he started gesturing wildly with it. “I’m not going to be silenced. You all don’t believe me, but I’ll show you. You can’t become savage if there’s nothing savage in you!”

“We will pretend that you are right,” Dr. Leuca said with a voice as close to calm as she could summon, and inched just a half-step toward the stage. “You are not, but we will pretend. Even if you do not have _exact same reaction_ that every other mammal has, you have created dangerous situation here. You are in locked room filled with mammals, and you are scaring them. You have backed them into corner. You threaten their offspring. You expect them not to react to this?”

“I’m not threatening anyone!” Robert yelled. “Nothing is going to happen! If you just see that savage behavior is a predator trait, then we’ll finally have the proof we need to move to a predator-free Zootopia. It’ll be a safer city without them!”

“Safer how?” Dr. Leuca cocked her head quizzically with another small step forward. “Safer, no one will lose sibling again like you have? I understand you are sad. You are allowed to mourn your brother. But your grief cannot come at expense of others’ rights. You are so certain, but consider what will happen if you are wrong. You could hurt someone, like Trevor was hurt. There are children here. You do not want to do that, right?”

“I’m telling you I’m not a threat! Not like them!” Robert pointed behind Dr. Leuca at the back, indicating predatory mammals she could not see. “No prey has the means to hurt another mammal like a predator does!”

“You think this?” Dr. Leuca asked, and with another step was a little closer to the stage, but also a little further in front of the gun. Difficult as it was, she had to just hope that Officer Hopps would keep her word, and allow her to try and talk Robert down. “You think that no prey has hurt another mammal ever? What about Dawn Bellwether?”

Wrong question. “Dawn Bellwether knew just what preds are capable of!” he practically screamed. “She was a sweetheart and you all strung her up! She would have been great for this city! We needed her! We deserved her!”

Wrong response. Hot rage erupted behind Dr. Leuca’s eyes; it felt as though every bit of her brain had been set on fire. “ _Zhū_!” she barked, her teeth bared. “ _Nǐ zěnme néng shuō…_ ” Robert seemed shocked by the foreign language being thrown so furiously at him, although she did not continue in her mother tongue for very long before falling back to firm, somewhat more restrained, Common. “…do not ever say such things about your city. No one deserved what she did here. No one. She use old fear we have of each other to make divide. With careful lie, she bred distrust and anger, make mammals hate and hurt each other. Just by focusing on what separates us… all Zootopia was almost consumed by it. This is not thing that is deserved.”

“Prey can’t turn savage!” Robert insisted again, but it seemed with less and less conviction and less and less energy each time he said it. “There’s nothing about us that’s dangerous like preds are! No fangs, no claws… what am I going to do with these?” He pulled back his lips to reveal his own set of teeth. “Can’t possibly become savage… my species isn’t made for it!”

“Have you looked in a mirror lately?” Officer Hopps remarked wryly. “There’s plenty about you that’s dangerous for plenty of mammals.” Dr. Leuca gave the bunny a sideways glance to find her still with her weapon drawn and leveled. She didn’t expect her to participate in what Dr. Leuca was trying to accomplish here, but she was thankful. Surely, Officer Hopps didn’t want to see bloodshed tonight, either.

Confusion passed over Robert’s face, and the hoof that held the blue flower dropped a little lower. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re at least five times heavier than most of the mammals here. Put any small amount of momentum behind that mass and there will be injuries. And even without _fangs,_ there’s enough force in an average adult pig mouth to seriously wound any mammal that finds itself on the wrong end of it. You think that your jaw is harmless, just for eating plants?” Officer Hopps shook her head. “There’s more than enough strength there to break bones.”

Dr. Leuca clenched her own teeth together and imagined for a moment what it might be like to take flesh and bone between them. Was it much different than cracking a bamboo stalk in half as she so often did?

From the back of the room, Kathleen was following the path the conversation was heading, and picked up the argument from there. “You don’t even know where the word ‘savage’ comes from, do you?” she said, assuming her lecturing voice. “It became a Common word only very recently, but its origins were in Pig-Latin: avaj-sā. A verb. When a mother would attack and kill her own young.”

_FLASH! Raindrops trickled off the gently swaying leaves above; the forest went on breathing even though it didn’t seem that he could anymore. The knotted white and gray spots were smeared in mud and blood, crisscrossed in gaping wounds; she was watching the light leave his eyes…_

Dr. Leuca felt her breath hitch in her throat and she swallowed a swelling sob with just the tiniest squeak. She was glad that the attention was on Kathleen and not her as she blinked away the tears that sprang up from the raw, gut-churning memory. _Steady… steady… that is over. This is not yet… they still need you. Stay here… focus on what’s important…_

“…eventually it just came to describe any wild, violent act, because there is nothing more heinous than hurting a child, is there? And this was not solely a predator behavior. According to fossil records, it was much more often seen in prey mammals. Mice. Hamsters.” Kathleen took a deep breath; it had to be said. “And pigs.”

Just when she thought Robert’s face couldn’t possibly get any redder, it did. “How dare you say such lies?!”

“Not a lie. Look it up; you’ll find plenty of sources from your own species.” Kathleen flattened her ears; even though what she said was true, it didn’t make her feel any less repugnant for saying it. “Not fair, is it? That’s just a small hint at what predators deal with every day. You cannot condemn a mammal for something a far-off ancestor once did ten thousand years ago. You think that the roots of your family’s tree weren’t watered with the blood of other animals? You are sorely mistaken. Maybe we are evolved now, but we are _all_ still capable of the same malice. We are also, thankfully, capable of the same good. We choose which to bring to the world. We _choose._ All of us. This is not dictated by family or species.” Kathleen forced her voice to shed the lecturing edge and soften a little. “And I’m sorry you lost your brother. But that does not give you license to behave this way. That is your _choice_. You’re just fortunate that this tantrum is happening in a room full of mammals that are willing to be patient and maybe even forgive it.”

“Yes, that is true,” Dr. Leuca agreed, finally recovered enough to pick up where Kathleen had left off. “This is truth of matter. You keep anger in your heart, there can be no peace for you. For anyone. Only way back to balance from such hurt is to let anger go and forgive. You must forgive each other, or this city will never heal.”

“How can I?” Robert asked, more to himself than anyone else. His face twisted up like he was in pain and tears welled up in his eyes. “How?! Could you?! He was too young! Too young… it’s not fair! I didn’t even get to see him…”

For a few foolish seconds, Dr. Leuca dared to believe that they might be getting through to him. The hard creases in Robert’s face had relaxed ever so slightly. He had clearly become exhausted from the stress of all his arguing, standing alone in a place where—for all the support he might have received for the death of his sibling—no support for his perspective or actions could be found.

“We do not lose the ones we love at time we choose. This—what you do now—will not bring Trevor back. You lose your brother… would you take a brother from one of the children here? Would you take a friend? A wife? A son? Will taking away someone that these mammals love make all even again?” At this point, Dr. Leuca was at the edge of the stage, looking up at Robert. “Do not make terrible mistake. Put nighthowler down now. You come here in grief and that is something that we can help you through. But not if you behave like this.”

Beads of sweat were rolling off his forehead, and he was panting heavily. It seemed that he had forgotten what had originally brought him onto the stage, although no one else in the room had. Robert considered the flower in his hoof again as though seeing it for the first time.

“I know something awful happened to you, Robert, but that does not mean you should do something awful in return. Please reconsider. Put it down.”

With his argument in its death throes, Dr. Leuca honestly thought that he might just be at the point that he’d be able to rethink what he was doing. But Robert had disappointed her before, and this time was no different. The hoof that was holding the nighthowler started raising, albeit with halting, agonizing slowness, back up to his face.

“Don’t!” Officer Hopps yelled, and repositioned her gun again in preparation for the terrible thing that she was about to do.

“He didn’t deserve it,” Robert murmured. “I’ll show you they’re different… he’d still be alive, if there wasn’t a wolf in the Meadowlands…”

“Final warning!” Officer Hopps shouted. “If you don’t put that nighthowler down by the time I count to five, I am opening fire! One!”

 _Oh God, no._ “Robert, please!” Dr. Leuca cried frantically. “You will be shot! Trevor would not want you die over him!”

The nighthowler stopped just an inch from Robert’s face. He seemed at war with himself, weighing the choice to follow through with what he said or obey the pleas of the doctor that he was always at odds with. Trying to decide in the last few seconds if he was willing to die to prove himself right.

“Two!”

Dr. Leuca was on the stage, and standing just a few feet away from him. Too far from him, too far from the gun… close enough to the path of the bullet? She had to keep trying; until the end, she had to. “You are better than this. Please be better.”

“Three!”

Still no change. “Please! Put it down!”

“Four!”

 _Last chance!_ “I SAID DROP IT! _NOW_!”

Miraculously (and with all the praying that Sam had done, divine intervention was a sincere possibility for the outcome), the little blue flower did drop to the floor. Officer Hopps’ reaction time was flawless; she stood down the instant that the nighthowler tumbled from Robert’s hoof, and the gun safety clicked just an instant later. Crisis averted, threat null. She breathed a subdued sigh of relief.

Dr. Leuca scrambled forward with speed she didn’t even know that she possessed and snatched the nighthowler up from where it fell. In a blur, it went from her paw back into the little box, then tucked away into her sweater pocket. Her chest heaved; she wasn’t sure exactly how long she had been holding her breath, but now that it was safe to breathe again her lungs were burning.

With the immediate danger past, Dr. Leuca couldn’t decide whether to treat Robert with sheer revulsion or pity. For his sake, and the sake of the other mammals present, she chose the latter. There had been more than enough destructive emotions flung around tonight, and at least for the moment he looked… defeated. Frustration and sadness had taken over his face, and why not? Everything that he believed had been called into question to the point that even he couldn’t follow through with what he had been so certain of. But if he couldn’t blame the wolf, who could he hold at fault for Trevor’s death?

“I voted for her, you know.” Robert spoke so softly (strange for him, he always seemed to be shouting) that Dr. Leuca didn’t think that anyone beside herself heard him. “I liked her…”

Dr. Leuca started toward him with what little support she felt capable of offering, but what may have passed for a possible change of heart was gone the next second. Robert drew himself back up to his full height, and his face was again etched in animosity. She rescinded what comfort she had contemplated extending and planted herself squarely against him for what she hoped would be the last time.

“This could have been much different,” she said, her voice still a little unsteady with her body just coming down off the deluge of adrenaline. “You could have asked for help. N.I.T.E. could have helped you.”

“This stupid program is a sham,” Robert said with such spite that Dr. Leuca thought that she could almost taste it. “Never did a thing for me or mine. Can’t wait to watch it get dissolved next week.”

Dr. Leuca froze; he may as well have just told her that she would never see the sun again. She wanted to dismiss it as a hurtful lie, but that wasn’t possible now. Not after seeing the empty calendar. She knew that what Robert said was true. Abysmally true.

Her fists were clenched and shaking. She wanted to reach out and… take him between her paws and shake him until his eyes crossed, _how dare he._ How dare he destroy the very memory of this thing Dr. Leuca loved, turn it into something so ugly that she would never be able to look back on it without reliving this outburst over and over and over again.

“Why do you say this?” she asked, her blood boiling. “You do not do enough tonight, still there is more misery to spread?”

“You didn’t know that the N.I.T.E. program is ending?” he said nastily. “Well, now you’re informed. City Council is gonna pull it like a rotten tooth. And good riddance.”

Robert was speaking again loud enough to be heard by the rest of the mammals in the room, and Dr. Leuca was afraid to see their reaction. For the first time since she started speaking directly to him she dared to look at the others, and it was… quite uplifting. They were standing together, hooves and paws clasped; if they were worried, or afraid, or upset, they were doing an amazing job of overcoming it. Dr. Leuca’s heart swelled with pride, and then almost immediately dropped into her gut. Had they done it? Had she done it? Maybe her work was over. Maybe it didn’t matter if the program was ending. Maybe they _didn’t_ need it anymore. Didn’t need her.

She wasn’t ready.

But if it was true—if there would be no more N.I.T.E.—then there was no reason left not to do what Dr. Leuca had once resolved never to do, and at this point was the only thing she really wanted _to_ do.

She gave Robert the most withering look possible and said, “You want to leave this room. Right now.”

With a glowering huff, the boar turned his back on her. “You’re damn right, I do,” he said, and jumped down off the stage.

“Good.” The words tasted like ash. “Do not come back.”

Robert trotted briskly, head high and without a bit of shame, down the center aisle. He didn’t even cast a glance at Officer Hopps as he passed her by, and she kept her gun ready even as he approached the back of the room. He deserved much worse than to walk out the door—and oh, it was coming to him—but not before the lock was gone. Not before the other mammals were free to leave if they chose.

There was one last tense moment as the pig passed where Sam Wagner was still seated, paws clasped and head low, staring at his feet. Robert looked down on the poor wolf with such contempt that Dr. Leuca honestly thought he might spit on him. But with Kathleen so near and the entire room casting him irritated looks, Robert instead just gave a harsh snort and continued on to the door. The dials were spun around to their proper positions and with a loud _clack_ it finally, mercifully, unlocked. He unwound the cable from around the handles, spiked it hard into the floor, and pulled the door wide open. They all watched after him until his curly cue tail had disappeared.

From beyond the threshold, a heartrending cry slipped back into the room just before the door closed completely. At last, there was silence.

Dr. Leuca’s knees buckled beneath her and she plopped down gracelessly onto the floor of the stage. She wanted to scream and sob; she also, in a way, needed to mourn the impending demise of this wonderful thing that had given her days so much meaning. But there would be time—so much time—for all of that later. Right now, there was more work yet to do.

“I am sorry for what happened here,” she said dolefully and scooted over to sit at the platform’s edge. She still wasn’t quite ready to stand. “Session is over. I will stay, if anyone needs to talk. If you want to leave, please do. I wish you all well, and thank you for your patience and cooperation.”

There was a small exodus of sorts as more than a dozen mammals rushed out of the hall to freedom at last. Dr. Leuca noticed that they were all new faces, mammals that she did not know—and it would suffice to say she probably never would. Regret tugged at her heart; their first and last experience at N.I.T.E. only gave them a terrible shock, and she’d have no way to change that now.

“Doctor?” The young deer she had spoken to earlier in the evening had a hoof raised as he asked for her attention, as though he were in school. “Was that true? What he said about N.I.T.E. ending?”

Dr. Leuca sighed. “I do not know.”

“Will we still be able to have private sessions? Will those have to stop, too?”

“I am sorry, but I do not know this either.”

“What will we do if we still need therapy?” Helen asked anxiously. “I could never afford it without N.I.T.E….”

“Please… these are things I do not know,” Dr. Leuca said, and her voice nearly broke. She eased carefully off of the edge of the stage and stood facing the room of concerned faces with what she hoped would pass for a smile. “But I will tell you what I do know. There is such great strength in you all. You face your fear, and you are victorious. If N.I.T.E. must end, then it will end. But that does not mean you have to give back what you learn, or the friendships you make here. Maybe you will meet at park, or restaurant, or shopping center. Maybe you are asked why you gather, and then it is up to you. You be teachers; teach those who want to learn. Meet the ignorant ones with patience. Protect each other. Do not let hate grow in you. You are so many, and so good. You will make this city better. This I am sure of.” Dr. Leuca clasped her paws together and bowed low to them, as was her customary way of bidding her patients farewell; it was all she could do to keep the tears back. “It has been an honor to be your counselor. Thank you for allowing me to serve you.”

There were assorted “thank yous” and other words of gratitude in response from the mammals that had stayed, though they still sounded halfhearted at best. They did not all leave right away following her send-off, though little by little they did begin to clear out. Dr. Leuca felt as though pieces of herself went with them. She dreaded the empty room.

Presently, there was only a pawful of mammals left. Kathleen was sitting with Sam and talking gently to him, although it didn’t seem that he had yet spoken except to pray since Robert called him a murderer. Dr. Leuca itched to talk to him, to try and put his mind at ease, but wanted to settle the rest of the room first. She was fairly certain that the help Sam needed was not going to be quick or simple, and did not want to have it interrupted.

The Ottertons had also stayed and were seated in the corner with Renato Manchas. The pups had both fallen asleep from all of the excitement, and Mrs. Otterton held one while Renato held the other over his shoulder as they came down from the episode that they had made it through together. At least one good thing had come out of tonight. She seared that image into her mind so when she looked back on her last N.I.T.E. session there would be something worth remembering about it. Something that would make her smile rather than cry.

“Alright, I called a patrol around to pick him up.” Dr. Leuca looked down to see Officer Hopps just putting her cellphone away as she continued to speak. “I’d like to see him try and bully McHorn and Rhinowitz. Let him spend the night in a cell. Hopefully, that’ll scare some better manners into him.”

“Yes, that is probably best,” Dr. Leuca said feebly. She was exhausted, and ready to go home so she could promptly fall apart. “Thank you. For your help.”

“That’s what the ZPD is here for.” Officer Hopps’ lopsided smile faltered. “Are you okay? Your…” She pointed at her own ears as they sprang straight up. “They’re twitching.”

The screaming siren had silenced long ago, but it seemed that the tiny spasms that her ears had made to keep it from flaring back up again hadn’t yet stopped. Dr. Leuca pressed them down firmly with her paws and at last they were settled.

“Stress response,” was all she said by way of explanation. “Thank you, again.”

“Sure. It was certainly stressful there for a while.”

“Yes, it was.” Dr. Leuca gave the bunny a slightly askew look. “Fortunate, that you were here. I do not see you before. Can I ask why you come to class tonight?”

“Oh, just… you know,” Officer Hopps said evasively and looked away. “Professional curiosity.”

 _Lie._ Dr. Leuca raised a dubious eyebrow. “No other reason?”

“Not really.”

But even as her mouth said one thing, her eyes said something completely different. Dr. Leuca followed where they had wandered off to and found Renato and the Ottertons on the other side of her contemplative stare. Which was not really anything that Dr. Leuca had the strength or patience for anymore tonight.

“No.”

“What?” Officer Hopps looked back up at a much sterner face than the one she had seen just a moment before.

“I know what you are thinking. The answer is no. Do not go over there.”

“I didn’t know Mr. Manchas would be here.” Officer Hopps glanced again almost wistfully at the otter couple and the jaguar that they were talking to. Her nose twitched just once. “They said he might, but… I just feel bad. I didn’t mean to scare him. I only said hello.” She started to walk around Dr. Leuca toward them. “I’m gonna let him know…”

Officer Hopps startled as a big black paw dropped down to block her path. When she saw Dr. Leuca’s face again, there were annoyed wrinkles on her snout. “You are not as good listener as your ears suggest. I said no.”

Officer Hopps’ previously pleasant expression was replaced with one of irritation. “Look, I just want to tell him—”

“I can imagine all things you want to tell him,” Dr. Leuca interrupted. “‘I am sorry, do not be afraid, I am friend, I will not hurt you.’ Are these words for him, or for you?” Officer Hopps looked slighted, and Dr. Leuca knew that she wasn’t really being fair, but she couldn’t handle the thought of yet another poor experience for one of her patients. Not if it was in her power to stop it. “Decision to talk with you should be his, not yours. You only risk same thing happens to him again.”

“You don’t know that.”

“And you do? Do you know where he is while you shout and draw your gun? Do you know if he panics? Is he in little ball with children because he hears same voice he heard last time he loses his mind? I do not know, so how can you?” Dr. Leuca sighed and forced her tone to lose some of its harshness. “You are connected to worst night of his life. Your face, your voice, even your scent all signs of terrible thing coming to hurt him. This is not your fault, but it is what it is. Many months Renato takes to speak with Emmitt again, and they know each other well. You think in twenty minutes you can take fear away with few words? No. And I will not see him hurt again. Still I am his doctor, and I will make best decision I can for his well-being. You stay away. If you will not do what I advise, I will file complaint at police station. Do you understand me?”

It was a tense standoff for a few very long seconds until, reluctantly, Officer Hopps stepped back from the black paw. “Perfectly,” she said with an incensed glare.

“Good.” Dr. Leuca straightened up. “Thank you again for your help, but I must attend to others here and close room. You can see yourself out, yes?”

“Fine.” As Officer Hopps turned to leave, she cast one last look at the Ottertons and Renato Manchas. “You know, he was a big part of one of the worst nights of _my_ life, too. If you care.”

She didn’t wait for a response—not that Dr. Leuca had one to offer. With a few quick steps Officer Hopps was at the door. She pried it open just the tiniest crack, squeezed herself through, and was gone.

Dr. Leuca sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Such situations were never easy; what was right for one mammal was not right for another. But she had to do what was best for her patient. Always.

The Ottertons and Renato left very shortly thereafter; Dr. Leuca couldn’t be completely certain, but she imagined that Officer Hopps’ departure might have been the thing they had been waiting around for. Only Sam and Kathleen remained.

At last, Dr. Leuca made her way back to the bench where the wolf and snow leopard were sitting. She pulled one of the chairs up from the row just in front and spun it around so she could face them. Sam was still staring at the ground, and there were tiny wet spots on his lap from what appeared to be many, many tears shed.

“I am sorry I make you wait, Sam,” Dr. Leuca said as she sat down. “Everyone else has gone. Now only us and Kathleen. Do you want her leave also?”

Sam shook his head slowly. He was rolling his prayer beads in between his paws. Dr. Leuca didn’t think that his ears could fold back any further.

“I knew I shouldn’t have come tonight,” he said eventually with a voice devoid of any vitality. “I’m sorry I ruined the session for everyone.”

“You have no reason for apology,” Dr. Leuca assured him. “Not for anything. This incident here was not your fault.”

“But it was still because of me.” Sam sniffled and another tear dropped off his snout. “If I just hadn’t come, then none of this would have happened.”

“Some mammals seek fight wherever they go,” Dr. Leuca said, and fished a tissue from her pocket to hand to him. “This is not because of you. Robert does terrible thing, and he will be dealt with. He made choice; no one forced him, like you were forced. Do not think you are to blame for his behavior.”

Sam kneaded the tissue in his paw, crumpling and tearing at it with his claws. His teeth clicked as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. “I wish you just let him hit me.”

Dr. Leuca’s ears flattened. _Red flag._

“What good would that have done?” Kathleen demanded.

“Trevor died. If not for me, he’d still be alive.” Sam’s face twisted like the words were sour. “It seems… wrong that there are no repercussions for that. Shouldn’t there be?”

“You can’t be made to answer for a thing that _you_ didn’t do. If you do that, it’s like… apologizing for just being what you are.” Kathleen had misty eyes and a wobbling voice

“The kind of anger that Robert has right now, Sam… is not easily satisfied,” Dr. Leuca added. “He hurts you, or you give him what he thinks he wants. You think he stops when he is appeased? No. It is like hole that has no bottom. He needs more and more to pacify him. It may seem like path to balance, but is only path to more hate.”

“I’m sure you’re right. It’s just… I can’t see past this. It doesn’t seem fair.” He wiped the decimated bits of tissue over his muzzle. “You know what the real sin of it is? For years… for years I just wanted Trevor to leave us alone. Now he’ll never bother us again, but… this isn’t what I wanted. I didn’t want him to be dead.”

“This not outcome anyone wanted,” Dr. Leuca said. “But you are not the mammal that attacked Trevor. You were taken away, and come back to horrible thing that happens while you are gone. This is the sin. I know you feel responsible, but law and doctors and friends all around you know you are not. You are good mammal. Gentle mammal. Do you not feel this about yourself?”

Sam sighed. “Not today, no. I just… feel numb.”

_Reddest flag._

It was clear that he was in shock, which Dr. Leuca expected from the upsetting ordeal that he’d just gone through. The self-deprecation that Sam was doing to himself was very reminiscent of earlier sessions she had with him, and while such a regression was not surprising it was still cause for alarm.

After a short silence, Dr. Leuca prodded, “What else? It is important to keep talking to us.”

“You know, I’m really tired,” he said, and set the tip of his cane back on the floor. “I don’t think I want to do this anymore. Thank you both for staying and all. I’m gonna go home.”

Dr. Leuca stood up so fast that the chair fell back behind her. “Sam, just wait…”

Kathleen’s paw shot out quicker than the eye could follow and clasped around Sam’s prayer beads. He yelped and dropped hard back onto the bench.

“What the _hell_ , Kathy?!”

“Kathleen, what are you…?”

“Don’t let him leave,” Kathleen said softly, and just as she spoke those few words a noxious scent hit Dr. Leuca square in the face. Acrid, pungent, and metallic. Her nostrils flared, and Kathleen said, “Oh, good, then I’m not hallucinating. There was just the faintest whiff of it before, so I wasn’t certain.”

Dr. Leuca took Sam’s arm from her gently to examine the red matted fur and the red beads smeared with even redder blood as he whimpered with mortified panic, “Please don’t… please don’t… please…”

“Sam, why do you not tell me this?” she asked him bluntly, but he didn’t answer. Instead he dropped his head again and just stared at the floor in shame. Dr. Leuca studied the oozing little lacerations—not terribly deep, but clearly self-inflicted—and turned her options over. So, his mental state was already declining even before the quarrel with Robert. Very worrying; it had been more than two months since Sam had even thought of hurting himself, but considering the condition that he was in now, there was only one thing to do for him. She turned back to Kathleen. “Will you call ambulance, please?’

A fresh flood of tears burst the dam and Sam threw back his head as though to howl, but only a choked whine came out. “Please don’t… I don’t want to go to the hospital.”

“Hospital is best place for you right now.” Dr. Leuca sat beside him as Kathleen moved off to make her phone call. “Where is Nathan tonight? Working? I will have him meet you there…”

“Don’t call him!” Sam’s eyes became frantic and he grasped Dr. Leuca around her shoulders hysterically. “Please don’t call him. Please. His sister had her twins. He flew to Beaver Creek to see them… it’s the first trip he’s taken since last year. He’s always worrying over me; he never gets to do _anything._ Please. I promised him I’d be okay. I promised… please…”

Sam buried his head into her chest and started to sob nonstop. Dr. Leuca held him while he wept and shook against her. It felt like her own inner resolve was quaking apart with each little shudder.

“He will want to know what happened to you,” she said. “He will want to come home.”

“Please,” he begged again. “I’m ruining his life… I promised him… I promised…”

There was a dull pang in Dr. Leuca’s chest at the familiar words that Amelia had said just a few hours earlier. It was hard to believe that it was still the same evening that they had spoken. They were two sides of the same coin: the predator attacker, the prey attacked. How could they—how could any of the mammals affected, really—keep making progress without the support that they’d been leaning on? They had all looked so confident, but was it only a brave front? The rug was being pulled out from under them. All this hurt… it was just too much to bear without help. She knew this. First hand, this was something that she knew very well.

Dr. Leuca hated to imagine them shouldering such a burden on their own.

“Better he has broken promise than broken heart,” she said, and stroked Sam’s head between his ears. “I cannot let you be alone tonight. We will have doctor watch over you and Nathan will take you home in the morning.”

“Doctor?” She looked up to see Kathleen holding out the cellphone. “They want to talk to you.”

Dr. Leuca took it from her and patted Sam’s head again with her other paw. “Sit with Kathleen for one minute, Sam. I will be back.”

The two traded places. Dr. Leuca answered the dispatcher’s questions quietly in the corner while Kathleen took over comforting a completely crushed Sam, squeezing his paw reassuringly. Each breath held a whimper, and she didn’t know if there would ever be an end to the tears streaming down his face.

“Do you ever dream about it, Kathy?” he asked her quietly. “All that time… hurtling alone through the dark? Do you dream about it, too?”

“Of course I do,” she answered. “I think we all do. But that’s not to say we always will.”

“So many nights I wake up with the taste of blood in my mouth.” His muzzle wrinkled with abhorrence. “I can’t stand it. How can I keep doing this when all I hear in my head is ‘bad wolf?’”

Kathleen hissed. “Why would you even think that?”

“That’s what the paper called me. ‘Big Bad Wolf Attacks Little Pig.’ That was the headline. I read the article. Shouldn’t have, I know, but I just… wanted to fill in the gaps, all the time that I couldn’t remember. They wrote about me like I was a horrible… beast.” He looked at her with soulful eyes; it felt as though they might bore right through her. “What if I am?”

“You’re not.”

“ _What if I am?_ ”

“You’re not, I tell you! And you must do whatever you can to convince yourself that you’re not. If you believe that about yourself… mammals like Robert win. Don’t let them tell you that you’re something terrible. Please don’t.”

Sam fell to silence and didn’t say anything more until the EMT arrived. The young wolf was kind and polite, and Dr. Leuca was glad for the fortunate happenstance. It was a little thing, but sometimes it was just easier to empathize with a member of the same species. Kathleen helped Sam to his feet and, tail tucked firmly between his legs, he sat down heavily in the wheelchair that the EMT had brought in for him. After a blood pressure check and a round of basic medical questions, the medic started to wheel him out.

“Goodbye, Sam. Take care.” Dr. Leuca gave a small wave and backed up behind Kathleen quickly. Even though she knew that this was the best decision, it didn’t make her feel any less guilty about it.

“And I still expect to see you two for dinner on Tuesday. Don’t you dare cancel on me or I will be very cross,” Kathleen warned good-naturedly. It was, of course, the emptiest of threats, and it was encouraging to see just the faintest smile tug at Sam’s lips.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Kathy,” he said, and lifted one paw off the armrest in a feeble farewell. “Goodnight.”

Again, the door opened and closed, taking away another of Dr. Leuca’s patients. Her stomach ached and ached, and she started to realize it wasn’t just from the churning turmoil that was eating a hole in her gut. She stole a look at the refreshment table, and was thoroughly disappointed. All of the platters had been picked almost completely clean. Pandas are not known to roar, but you wouldn’t know that from the sounds that were coming from within.

It was a second before a very different growl rose to her ears, and she snapped her head back around to find Kathleen suddenly in front of her with a rumble in her throat and tears welling in her stormy eyes.

“ _You._ ” Her ears were slicked back and her claws came unsheathed. Usually the picture of composure, it was strange to see Kathleen so wound up, like she was ready to spring. “How could you? How could you let that… that… _bigot_ come here and do this? Sam wouldn’t hurt a fly; now he thinks he’s a murdering monster!”

Dr. Leuca swept her tongue over parched lips and squared her shoulders back. _One last talk._ “He is in good paws tonight. This most important thing,” Dr. Leuca said evenly. “Sam has strong support, good mate, and good friends. With time—”

“He is _destroyed_ ,” Kathleen interrupted hotly. “Who knows if he’ll be able to get through this again. The first time nearly killed him! Even if he does come out on the other side, he’s never going to be the same. Sam came here for comfort on a bad day; instead he gets blindsided by an extremist pig. _He’s_ not the one that shouldn’t have come tonight. _Robert_ shouldn’t have been allowed in.”

“I realize Robert was not kind in other sessions, but he has never been violent,” Dr. Leuca said defensively. “Tonight, he came with agenda. This is not thing anyone could anticipate.” _Not even me._

Kathleen’s eyes flashed behind the standing tears. “You knew damn well what kind of mammal he is, and _still_ you gave him the opportunity to spout his hate speech here and I don’t understand _why_.”

“Inclusion was cornerstone of N.I.T.E. charter, so all could be welcome, regardless of family or species or belief or reason. The fang is sharp on both sides, as they say; this as much benefit as drawback. Ban one mammal, others may also be kept away that need help because something they said, or believe, or just _are_. This was not what N.I.T.E. was about.”

“Oh, yes, I recall; N.I.T.E. was supposed to be about _healing_.” Kathleen’s muzzle twisted into a sneer, even though it looked like it was only hurting her to wear such a face. “Just another way to say ‘make all the prey comfortable again.’ Help them forgive the savage predators, as though again we need to prove we don’t want to eat them.” By this point, she was leaning so far into Dr. Leuca’s personal space that the panda was forced to take a step back from her. A little bit of Kathleen’s old mindfulness resurfaced and she straightened herself up. She looked away from Dr. Leuca when she started speaking again. “But what really sets my fur on end… even after what Robert did tonight, you just let him walk out the door. After what he did to Sam, after everything, he won’t see any consequences.”

“We cannot fall into vicious cycle of anger and hate and revenge for hurts caused,” Dr. Leuca said. “Is not for you or me to punish Robert. Police will handle justice now.”

“And I’m sure they’ll do just that, won’t they? He’ll have a nice relaxing ride to the station, maybe pay a little fine, and be on his merry way. Some punishment. You think they’re taking him to jail in cuffs? You think he’ll get a muzzle on his face, like I would have? Do you think he’ll lose his job, _like I would have?_ No, not a prey mammal; they deserve decent treatment. _We have to live every day knowing that’s how it is_.” The tears finally broke and ran down Kathleen’s cheeks. She stared off at the front of the room, her eyes searching and wandering restlessly over the stage. “You know what would have happened if I had been the one holding that nighthowler? I’d have been shot. Immediately, without so much as a word of warning.”

Dr. Leuca’s ears drooped. “Kathleen, no…”

“‘No’ what?” she demanded furiously. “No doubt? No kidding? No question?!”

“Just… no.” Dr. Leuca felt her mind turning sluggish from the stress and strain of the night; it was as if the words she needed were actively eluding her. “You fuel anger with assumption. You cast dark light on police officer, on your peers… and on me. Do you turn all prey into enemies now? Would you choose to save only the predators’ young? Would you teach your students this?”

“Don’t.” Kathleen’s voice was low and dangerous. “Don’t you dare use them against me. I teach that boar’s children. Do you know how hard I try, just to hear the same rhetoric that he espouses seep into my classroom? They’ll turn into their father anyway, no matter what I teach them. Another generation of Trevors, and Roberts, and Dawn Bellwethers.”

“Good thing, then, there are mammals like you still care enough to steer them to better path,” Dr. Leuca said pointedly. “As you say yourself: all are capable of choice. Wrong choice today does not mean wrong choice tomorrow.”

“And yet there will always be those that keep taking the hateful path. And then there are those like Sam, who will always take the high road and get hurt… or worse. His tormentor had to die for him to escape his harassment, and Sam actually feels bad about it. That he deserves punishment that no one will give him; he has to hurt himself.” Kathleen paused and seemed to be considering whether to press forward with her next words before she finally said, “The world would not be a better place without Sam. But one less LeBoare… having a hard time seeing that as a bad thing.”

“Do you hear yourself?” Dr. Leuca asked, appalled. “These words are not you. Do you see how the rage spreads, how it infects? If you cling to this anger there will be no end to it. It will just dig in, and root deeper. One day, there will be no way to get under it without tearing yourself apart. You are too good. I do not want that for you. Do you want that for yourself?”

“Am I supposed to just forget it all, then? Just forget what Robert said, what he did? Just roll over and take it? Again?”

“Of course not. But maybe… give spotlight to better things instead. Let Robert be fuzzy afterthought. See clearly pup who wants to help mother and little girl he has never met. Remember beaver who wants to be better mammal to others, even though she is hurt and afraid. Your new friends who stand with you in way of danger to protect something very precious. Remember tomorrow and next day and next after that there were both predators and prey standing peacefully, together. These are things to devote focus to.”

Kathleen’s mouth puckered and it looked like she was chewing on her words before deciding that she didn’t like the taste of them. “It’s a nice thought. I wish I could see it, but tonight… all I see is red. I just… I can’t lose another friend to this nonsense. And they better hope I don’t.” Kathleen turned on her heels and stalked toward the door. “They better hope to God that Sam doesn’t die. Because if he does, you can be damn sure I’ll show that swine what a savage predator really looks like.”

She threw the door open so hard it slammed against the wall; Dr. Leuca felt the floor quiver from the force of it. She reached out as though she could will Kathleen back by thought alone, but the snow leopard just disappeared around the corner with an annoyed flick of her long tail.

_Oh, Kathleen… not you, too._

Dr. Leuca dropped her arm in utter defeat and looked around the empty hall dully, picturing in all the seats the ghosts of the mammals that had come tonight, that she would never see again. The air hung thick and stale, reeking of regret.

Kathleen was the last nail in the coffin. An ally lost was a deep cutting tragedy. Dr. Leuca took everything that she had said very personally and realized that this was probably the reason trying to talk Kathleen off such a destructive path hadn’t gone anywhere. After all, how could Dr. Leuca advise against a thing that she herself felt almost daily? No wonder the proper words were nowhere to be found. She had failed Kathleen. Failed Sam. Failed all those present tonight. Failed them.

_You failure._

Dr. Leuca started to straighten up as a way of keeping her mind occupied. She knew if she stood too long with her thoughts that whatever was still holding her together might begin breaking apart, and she didn’t know how she would ever get home if that happened. She picked up the few discarded flyers of Helen’s daughter that were now strewn here and there on the floor. Overturned chairs were righted, and she threw away the abandoned plates of half-eaten snacks that she found tucked amongst the seats. Dr. Leuca retrieved her notepad and textbook from the stage. She flipped through the carefully marked pages, the embodiment of hours spent studying and memorizing, drafting notes and plans… and tore them both to pieces.

She was so dismayed that she almost threw the little wooden box from her pocket into the trash also—her big mistake—but it thankfully didn’t leave her paw when she went to toss it out.

 _What are you_ doing _, you idiot?_ Dr. Leuca berated herself. _Do you turn off your brain suddenly, you throw away the only thing you own of any worth?_

Not that it was particularly pretty or valuable, and it was too small to hold much. Even so, even attached to yet another horrible memory (not her intention when she brought it with her tonight), it was precious—the only possession to cross the ocean with her—and was not to be parted with. Ever.

Dr. Leuca opened the lid and regarded the blue flower inside with a mix of regret, disgust… and then just a little gratitude. She immediately hated herself for it.

 _Will you love the poison flower that gave you mammals to save?_ Dr. Leuca turned the nighthowler over in her paw, as if weighing it. _How selfish can you be?_

No, of course what happened to this city was nothing to be thankful for. But because of the nighthowler and Dawn Bellwether, she was able to come to Zootopia and finally, for once in her life, do meaningful work that left her feeling fulfilled at the end of each day. Exhausted… but fulfilled. What a way to feel about such a terrible mammal that had done such a terrible thing.

 _What will become of that sheep, I wonder?_ she thought. _Will she come back to Zootopia the same as she is? Will she ever feel remorse for what she did? Would she seek forgiveness?_

It was an interesting subject. What would happen if someone like Robert or Dawn Bellwether ever did find a better path? Would they feel shame? After hurting so many, would they even try to seek forgiveness? What would they do if that remorse was met only with hostility? What if they couldn’t find someone willing to forgive them? Would they just become again the horrible animals they were now?

“Would have been good discussion, I think,” she said to an empty chair, replacing the flower and putting the box back into her pocket. “Wish I thought of sooner.”

Dr. Leuca took her cellphone out from her other pocket and scrolled through the long list of names as she walked toward the door… leaving her class for the last time. She gulped back a little cry rising in her throat and held the phone to her ear as it started ringing.

It picked up. <Hello?>

“Hello, Nathan? It is Dr. Leuca.” As the lights went out at her paw’s command she felt the darkness creeping in on her. “I know you are away, but… something happened at N.I.T.E…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Judy. Poor Sam. Poor Kathleen. Poor Melanie. Poor babies... it's going to be alright.
> 
> The language bits are a guilty pleasure of mine... I love the idea of bilingual characters that slip into their first language in times of duress or extreme emotion. 
> 
> Okay, guys, that's it for the N.I.T.E. session. Back to the present for the aftermath.
> 
> Feedback is welcome, as always. Thanks again for reading. I hope you all found something that resonated with you... I know I did.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revelations regarding what transpired at the last N.I.T.E. session surface as Melanie and Dr. Buckner's appointment draws to a close. Volatile emotions run wild as they contemplate the end of the N.I.T.E. program and what this will inevitably mean for the patients, the counselors, and the fledgling relationship that they have with each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So these two get their own chapter. There's a lot needs to be said, and boy howdy they sure are going to say it.
> 
> God speed, fair readers. See you on the other side.

“You see what I say before? About mistakes and consequences?” Melanie finally glanced up from her paws so she could meet Dr. Buckner’s eyes, but they were turned carefully away.

“Yes… mistakes…” His ears dropped flat as he set his clipboard slowly on his desk. His brow was furrowed with a deep-set frown when he looked back at her. “What became of him? Over the weekend? Do you know?”

Melanie grimaced. “No. I do not hear from him or his mate after he goes to hospital—”

“Not Sam.” Dr. Buckner shook his head as he interrupted her. “Robert.”

“Oh. I suppose if what police officer said was… true…”

 _Wait. Wait wait wait wait what?_ Melanie rose from the couch as twisting icy tendrils wound about her heart; the wail in her ears had never sounded so loud, or so close. “Why do you use his name? I do not call them as names. I say ‘wolf’ and ‘pig.’ I _never_ use their names.” Never, because maintaining the confidentiality of her sessions was not a thing she would ever forget to do. “Why do you… _how_ do you…?

_FLASH! “My therapist was right… No courtesy for the prey…”_

The room started to sway as Melanie reached out, grasping at thin air until her paw hit the corner of the big wooden desk. She gripped it with every bit of her strength before her legs also betrayed her _._ Her claws dug deep grooves into its surface. It felt as though her mouth had turned to desert.

“Robert is your patient,” Melanie whispered in horror.

Dr. Buckner hesitated a moment, and then nodded. “Yes, he is.”

Hot tears surged forth and even though her chest was heaving, her breaths grew shorter and shallower until she was certain she was suffocating.

“Wh-what did you… do?” Melanie rasped and her mind started fuzzing up around the edges.

Recognizing the onset of a possible anxiety attack, Dr. Buckner was on his feet immediately and began to approach her. “Melanie, you need to breathe. Deep breaths now, it’s going to be all right…”

He didn’t look like a mammal coming to help her. Through her blurred vision his form became menacing and dangerous, a hulking, treacherous fiend she needed to guard against or surely he was just going to hurt her. Again. Again and again and again…

The warning wail was suddenly, noticeably absent. In Melanie’s ears instead was perfect, crystalline silence. She heard the frequency of the computer monitor, the pitch in the white noise machine that was droning somewhere in the background, barely discernable before but now blaring. Footsteps padding on the carpet closer and closer and then the sharp, sickening sound of something snapping.

“GET AWAY FROM ME!”

Molten outrage flooded every crevice of her brain. Her muzzle was all creases, lips pulled back to the gums. Melanie snapped her teeth and swiped her paw out in front of her to ward off the threat she no longer recognized as Dr. Buckner. He drew back instinctively half a step, but it was enough. She only missed him by inches.

“Listen to me.” He spoke to her in a smooth, soothing voice, as though he were speaking to a child. “You’re having a panic attack. You need to breathe. Let me help you.”

“ _HELP_ ME?” she snarled. “Like you help _him_?!”

The adrenaline jolt that Melanie had gotten from driving off the looming monster she perceived before her brought oxygen back into her lungs. The fuzzy edges in her mind came into focus so fast, it was intoxicating. She charged at Dr. Buckner with uneven steps, each one a little surer than the last, and she forced him back and back and back until he was pinned against the far wall. There was only a hair’s breadth of space between them.

“I can understand why you’d be upset…” Dr. Buckner’s voice was unequivocally serene, not a quiver or a tremble to be heard. Despite his precarious position, there was no panic in his eyes. There was no fear scent, or defensive stance. His face was all tenderness and sympathy. For some reason, this added fuel to the flame storm blazing in Melanie’s head.

“ _Upset_?” She stood arrow straight, huffing and gnashing her teeth up into his face, fists clenched and rigid by her sides. Her skin was all prickles beneath the bristling fur standing on end. “You do not know how far past upset I am!”

A movement to her left caught her eye, and Melanie spun at what she thought was another threat only to come face to face with a twisted version of herself. The mirror wasn’t even mounted; it was just propped in the corner, a tool for self-image issues and patients that were receiving treatment for eating disorders. For Melanie, it was as good as a slap to the snout. She saw a face she did not recognize as her own, though it looked like one that she’d seen often enough in her nightmares. Flashing white fangs and white face so distorted with rage that she almost couldn’t see the black markings around her crazed eyes.

It was a rude reminder of just how similar to her mother she always worried she might be.

 _Breathe._ Deep breath in. _You are not in danger._ Deep breath out. _You are_ being _a danger._ In. _Now stop._ And out.

Melanie forced her face to relax, smoothed out the wrinkles on her muzzle, and eased her clenching teeth. The deep breathing helped unwind the tight knots in her chest and she was able to stagger back out of the line of the judging mirror, away from the reindeer pressed flat against the wall. She focused on her shoulders and balled up fists next, and was surprised to find a chunk of splintered something wedged in her right paw pad. She stared at it in bewilderment, unable to place where it belonged.

“You broke the desk,” Dr. Buckner told her, though she hadn’t yet asked the question. Melanie looked behind herself and found the corner of the desk that she had gripped was broken clean off.

“So I did,” she said, a lifeless statement set like a thin film over the fury still simmering just below the surface. Her shaking paw deposited the wooden piece on the desktop. “I will pay for damage.”

“You’ll do no such thing.” Dr. Buckner readjusted his tie and stepped away from the wall now that it appeared Melanie was coming back to her senses. “It’s just a desk. I can fix it.”

 _Unlike other things,_ she thought to herself, and the anger flared anew at the thought that what happened at the N.I.T.E. session—what happened to Sam, and to Kathleen, and to Robert, and to her—all might have started in this very office. Everything about the opulent room now felt filthy. Her skin crawled like there was vermin in her fur, and she shuddered. It took everything that she had not to throw up.

Dr. Buckner waited, inwardly hoping that Melanie would give him some words to work with. Anything to accompany that frightfully harsh face, the steely and accusing eyes aimed at him. He didn’t even know how to begin explaining. How could he convince her that he’d never meant to be an accomplice to such an incident, to be even associated with causing her such pain? Would she even believe him?

“I wish you would say something,” he said, breaking the long silence grudgingly.

Melanie didn’t even blink. “What is there to say?”

“Maybe how you feel? For once?”

 _Unbelievable._ “Still? Still you ask this? You want to know my feeling regarding this matters so badly, I will tell you now you… you… _chùsheng! Jiànhuò!_ ”

Such a severe language, Pandarin. He dared not ask what name she deigned to call him, but whatever it was he was certain it wasn’t flattering.

“How do you counsel Robert when he has so much anger he lashes out and wants to hurt others?” she demanded; she wasn’t even entirely sure if that was the question she most wanted an answer to. The words just ran together and fell end over end out of her mouth. “How do you do this? Why?”

“What about that rubs you the wrong way most: that I provided him counsel in general, or just specifically that I decided he should have it?” Dr. Buckner asked. “He was grieving. He just lost his brother. It was a drawn out and painful death, and he’ll have no recompense for that. Of course he was angry. Of course he should be able to talk to someone. Was I to turn him away just because he is disagreeable?”

 _Isn’t that just the most shameless understatement._ Melanie ran her tongue over her teeth to keep them where they belonged. “This not my question. He comes here first, next he comes to session in rage, does terrible things. You could have defused his anger and instead you feed it. What did you say to him?”

Dr. Buckner winced, as though she’d just whacked him with her question. “You know I can’t tell you that.”

“Convenient,” Melanie said with a frustrated huff. “But I imagine what he says at class was close enough.”

“Robert twisted my words. He clearly misunderstood what I advised. I didn’t encourage this course of action at all. And I don’t approve of what he did, either,” he added; for some reason, he felt compelled to make that clear to her.

Melanie snorted derisively. “You do not approve it, but you will excuse it. You excuse Robert’s actions, but not the leopard who hurt his wife when he was _drugged_. The hardworking mother, she does not work hard _enough,_ her girl runs away. Poor Sam, who now must live with a death on his soul—a death that was not his fault!—forever. They are not excused. But Robert grieves, he threatens room with traumatized mammals, children… he is excused.”

“I didn’t say that, and I don’t appreciate what you’re implying. Do you honestly think I want to see mammals get hurt? _Any_ mammals?”

“Perhaps not, but seems you will only help certain of those that are hurting. You refer many predators to me for nighthowler-related trauma. But Robert? Robert will remain with you. You will keep him as patient. Happy to fill your waiting room with rabbits and sheep and pigs.”

Dr. Buckner’s eyes widened with surprise, and then immediately narrowed in offense. “You must think very little of me to say such a thing. I refer patients that would benefit from your particular style of counsel. Why would I send an intolerable mammal like him to you? Why would I do that to you? The few times he’s attended N.I.T.E. sessions he’s done nothing but aggravate you and argue. You think he’d take your advice on the _couch_?”

The deeply set frown lines in Melanie’s brow softened; it sounded like he thought he was… doing her a favor? Looking out for her? What he said wasn’t entirely wrong, but just the same… always predators? _Always?_ She stiffened and shook her head. “I state observation. You do not even see what you do.”

Dr. Buckner threw his hooves up. “Look, if you prefer no additional referrals from me, then I can understand…”

Melanie held up her paw to stop him before he got too far along a topic that she was certain would only lead to even more resentment. “No… no more. I take no more patients. I am no one’s doctor any longer.” Seeing his shocked reaction, she added quickly, “Do not worry… I send my patients to other counselors. You will not be burdened by them.”

“You _what?_ ” He pulled hard on one of his ears as though trying to determine if they were still functioning properly; what he was hearing made no sense. “Why would you do that? Why would you disperse your patients to other therapists now? _Now?_ ”

“I can be no more help to them,” she said gravely, entwining her paws together and pulling them apart again and again. “They should have options for better care now that—”

“What better care is there for them right now than their existing therapist?” Dr. Buckner asked rhetorically and with clear aggravation. “You’ll cut off your nose because of one poor session? But of course you would… they have a setback, you go and blame yourself! Again!”

“Am I not responsible for session outcomes?” she replied, annoyed to again be dragged along a conversation she didn’t care to continue. “I make plans, I choose exercises. I create dangerous situation because I want to make class special. That is my shortcoming. They need better care than me now N.I.T.E. ends. I failed them.”

“Because of something you couldn’t possibly predict or control, you failed them? The only reason Robert didn’t end up dead is you. You kept that room from falling into complete upheaval. The best possible outcome for that entire debacle only happened because of you. But since it fell short of your expectations, now you aren’t good enough for your patients.” He shook his head. “Whatever you think of me must pale in comparison to what you think about yourself. You don’t take enough credit for the positive impact you’ve had on them for all this time. This will set their recovery back months.”

“You think I do not know this?” Melanie said, gritting her teeth. “Even if I could keep them, would be inappropriate after what happened. I do not have choice in the matter, so I send referrals. That is all.”

Dr. Buckner seemed unconvinced that really was all. “What do you mean? Of course you have a choice. Keep them, build a practice! Make a new way forward for yourself. Or are you just looking to go down with the N.I.T.E. ship?”

Melanie groaned and rubbed her paws over her face. It wasn’t her intention to continue discussing this topic as far as they had, and she regretted bringing it up. At this point, she didn’t care to elaborate and doubted very much that he would fully understand the situation even if she did explain any further. Since subtle cues weren’t working, she decided to just be blunt.

“I do not discuss this anymore. Leave it alone now.”

But, as usual, he didn’t. “Why do you insist on being a martyr for a program that didn’t even pay you for your trouble? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Leave it alone, Doctor,” she said, offering him fair warning as the smoldering anger that had taken a short intermission started to rekindle once again.

“No one puts in as much effort as you have without getting _something_ back,” Dr. Buckner continued. “You’re too smart to work this hard with nothing to show for it at the end. Was it just emotional dividends you were being paid in? Or something that you’re not particularly proud of…?”

“I SAID LEAVE IT ALONE NOW.” Melanie’s muzzle drew back again from her fangs as she snarled out the tempered words.

As furiously requested, Dr. Buckner didn’t pursue his train of thought any further but he also seemed to have reached a particular limit of his own. Since they were both past the point of respectable propriety, he didn’t feel the need to hold back anymore either.

“Stop baring your teeth at me,” he demanded, and his antlers scraped the ceiling ever so slightly when he drew his head back to emphasize his height. “You’re better than that.”

“Better than _what,_ exactly?” Not that she needed a response; the answer was clear to her, though he didn’t specify his meaning any further. She searched his face, found the precise confidence right where it always was and said, “Why you are not afraid? You should be.”

“Of you? Please… I’ve had violent mammals in my office before, Melanie. Frankly, that’s not in your nature. I’m pretty sure you eat more greenery than I do.”

“You think I am harmless because I am panda? Because my _diet_?” Melanie seized the hunk of broken desk up off the desk she tore it from and thrust it in front of Dr. Buckner’s long snout. “Do you think I could not hurt you?”

He looked at the cracked piece of wood first, and then over his glasses at Melanie as he took it from her paw. “I’m certain you wouldn’t.” Back onto the desktop it clattered. “I’d actually bet my life on it.”

Melanie retreated two paces, genuinely astonished at his idiocy. “Stupid gamble you stand to lose. Slow, dense, clumsy panda just as capable of horrible things. Horrible, horrible things…”

Her lips trembled; why would he say something like that when not five minutes ago she had very nearly gutted him? _What a fool._

Dr. Buckner started to reach out his hoof to her, but thought better of it and let it fall back to his side. “Why do you think this way about yourself?” She didn’t answer, but gripped her arms about her, closing him off again. He knew it was a sign to back off, but how could he let her go on regarding herself so harshly? “Whatever happened to you, Melanie, holding on to it is damaging your personal view of who you are and what you’re worth. Don’t you know that? Whether it was neglect or… or some kind of familial abuse—?”

“My mother was a brute,” Melanie interrupted, her mouth burning as she hurled the words in his face. She threw her clenched fists down to her sides like a sulking cub. “There, I say it. Again you are right. Are you happy now?”

Never in his life had he wanted to be wrong more. “Why do you think that would make me happy?”

“Not enough? Maybe you like to know all the times she hurt me. Oh, she loved to twist my ears! ‘That is the only thing they are good for!’ she said. She would twist them until I thought she would tear them off. They ring and throb for hours… even the sound of the wind was agony.” A fresh deluge of tears stung at her eyes, and in a squeaky, young voice she asked, “Is that what you want to hear?”

Dr. Buckner bit his cheek. “Not like this.” It was time to quit while he was behind; every word from his mouth had become another potential trespass into places where he was not welcome. But too many things were starting to fall into place, all the questions that he’d had since their very first session being answered. More questions came before he could stop them. “Did you think that breaking your back for this sorry support group was going to prove you’re not like her? Is that really what this was all about?”

“What is your problem with N.I.T.E.?” Melanie asked, reverting back to conversation more comfortable, her questions overlaying his, back to the well she drew refuge from, back to what had saved her and away from what was ruining her. “Always same ugly face when I discuss. You do not participate, so why you have such low opinion?”

The reindeer wrinkled his nose like he had just smelled something putrid; she was thankful he followed the tangent she diverted him onto. “I gave my time, just like every other counselor in this city. I chose not to become invested in something that was so poorly executed. Nothing good was ever going to come out of N.I.T.E. for anyone. I even think I told you that once or twice. It was built to collapse. You think you let those mammals down? I think that all the time you spent to keep that failing program going for them did you a more serious disservice.”

 _I would not be here without it._ “I work hard to provide support for those that need it. I make this my purpose. Why is it so bad?”

“Because it’s not healthy for _you_!” Dr. Buckner said, stabbing a hoof toward her in frustration. “These classes have taken the place of true, honest relationships in your life. You know all the victims, all their stories, how each of them relate to their assailants, and how many sessions they’ve attended. You call them when they don’t come, just in case. But these are _patients_ , not friends. I think you must have half the city in your phone, and not a single mammal you would call just to talk about you. You made all their issues more important, so you never get around to addressing your own. Every week you come here and actually pay _me_ to discuss them more. It has never been clearer that they were not what you needed me for.”

 _Of all the arrogant…_ Melanie regarded him the same way she might an insect. “I do not need you.”

“You need someone.” He crossed his hoof through the air in front of him, as though striking his words, and then clarified, “Someone that isn’t attached to this program. You’ve assigned all your worth as a mammal and doctor to it. Of course the fact that it’s ending would be devastating to you. Have you had even one conversation since coming to Zootopia that _wasn’t_ about N.I.T.E.?”

“So what if not?” she retorted. “Is my business how I spend my time. I choose devote to something I feel important. I come to you, I do not ask help for me. Right from start I ask help for them, to help carry their burdens. You do not do this.” Almost a year’s worth of their appointments played back in her mind over the span of just a few seconds, pouring disappointment and aggravation over her like ice water; the cool blue eyes that condemned her patients, sought their faults and their mistakes and their motives, not their path or their way back to balance. Her voice rose to a shout from the avalanche of chaotic emotion rushing over her. “You do not ever do this! You insist focus on me while they suffer! You drop them on the floor!”

“For God’s sake, Melanie, _they_ are not my patients!” Dr. Buckner exploded. “You are!”

“ _Not anymore_!”

_Deedle deedle deet! Deedle deedle deet! Deedle deedle deet! Deedle deedle deet!_

The jingling alarm went on sounding while they glared at each other in emotional exhaustion. Eventually, Melanie reached over his desk and, with her eyes still locked on his, shut it deliberately off. Without a word, she wiped the tears from her cheeks, straightened her slightly askew skirt, and started toward the door.

Dr. Buckner watched her stupidly, his face completely blank from what she had just said. As Melanie removed her bag and jacket from the hooks on the wall it occurred to him that he should say something, force his hooves from the spot he was cemented to. No words came to his mind; his legs refused his insistent commands to move forward.

Melanie stopped at the door, her paw on the knob. She knew when she sat down an hour or so ago that tonight she’d probably be walking out of this office for the last time. And after everything that they just said to each other, of course she wouldn’t return. So why did it still hurt so much?

“Did you think this would be our last session?” she asked, staring into the thin crack between the doorframe and the wall.

Dr. Buckner ran a hoof through the mane of scruff around his neck. “Admittedly, I thought it might.” _I hoped it wouldn’t._

Melanie nodded and bit her lip to keep the next round of tears back. “I will not come back here. Please release my record to me as soon as possible.”

A thousand sentences flared up and turned to dust on his tongue before Dr. Buckner finally just replied with, “Yes, of course.”

The doorknob turned in Melanie’s grip, and light flooded into his office from the hallway. Her silhouette was thrown across the floor and stopped at his feet.

_Say something, you stupid old bull._

“You do know I wanted to help you.” It was completely insufficient, and nothing close to what he wanted to say, but it was all he could manage. With everything that had happened and the barbed words that they’d thrown around tonight, Dr. Buckner did want her to know that one thing… without question.

Melanie paused, one foot out the door. “And you know I wanted to help them. We neither of us have what we wanted.” She continued over the threshold and said, “Goodbye, Vincent,” as she pulled the door closed behind her.

She wielded his name like a razorblade to sever the whisper thin relationship that he had only just started to build with her. Like a fool he handled too roughly something that may as well have been made of spun glass. Of course it would shatter to pieces being treated so.

As a mammal of the tundra, it was not often that Dr. Buckner felt cold, but at that moment a chill ran through him, struck way down deep into the marrow in his bones. Even after doing this type of work for so long that he probably should have known better, he imagined that such a frigid feeling would never leave him for the rest of his days.

*****

The tastefully ugly waiting room had been empty for the past hour. The office assistant Sadie Catterson, a graying and overworked bobcat, sat at the front desk and tapped an impatient beat against the chair with her claws. Dr. Buckner’s last appointment was running way over, which was peculiar for him. He was always very punctual with end times, which Sadie appreciated given that overtime was not something her boss particularly preferred to offer if it could be helped. She was never going to make it to the bank if they didn’t finish up soon.

Her ears perked at the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway. She turned with an automatic and wide smile to bury her irritation beneath. “I was about to call in a search party for you! I have your cellphone here, and you’re all checked… out…” Her grin fell right off her face when Melanie walked fully into view.

Sadie quite liked the panda bear that came each week; Melanie was always overly polite and respectful to her, and never forgot to ask after her growing kittens. So to see her in the state that she was in—eyes reddened and puffy, with a sheen on her face that could only be from recent tears—was off-putting, to say the least.

Sadie’s eyebrows knitted in concern as Melanie dug around in her purse for something. “Are you okay?”

“Will be better when I am home,” she answered flatly. She placed a check on the desktop with one paw and took her cellphone with the other.

Sadie picked up the payment that Melanie left guiltily; it felt like adding insult to injury to take their money after an upsetting appointment. But Dr. Buckner had said that even the sessions that ended in tears were necessary steps forward; it was a shrewd justification. Didn’t make it feel any less awful.

“You may want to check your messages,” Sadie said quickly as Melanie slipped her phone into her pocket. “Your phone has been…” _Ding!_ “…doing that since you left it. Like, _a lot._ ”

Melanie blinked and nodded. “I apologize if was an annoyance.”

It often was an annoyance, keeping the cellphones locked in the desk for the sessions (especially those with ridiculous ringtones that hadn’t been put on silent). It was a necessary precaution for the protection and privacy of doctor and patient alike. But sometimes, like tonight, it was more an insufferable curiosity for Sadie to keep hearing the alerts sounding over and over without being able to see exactly _why._ Melanie’s phone had been blowing up, but it didn’t even look like she cared.

“No, of course not!” Sadie felt her skin crawling; was she really not going to check it at all? “Just… I just thought you would want to know.”

“Thank you for advising.” Melanie gave a small wave in farewell and headed for the exit.

Sadie suddenly realized and called after her, “Are we going to schedule next week’s…?”

Melanie didn’t pause, but walked straight through the door and was gone. The waiting room was once again empty.

“Is that hers?”

Sadie startled and spun around to see Dr. Buckner standing just behind her. She hadn’t even heard him approach. He was pointing at the check that was still in her paw.

“Oh, um… yes, it is.”

He plucked it up from her, tore it in half, and turned back toward his office. “Go home. I’ll close up tonight.”

 _Yikes… that’s never happened before._ Sadie flattened her ears and twitched her whiskers anxiously; it wasn’t the worst dismissal she’d ever heard from him, but the voice he used to say it still put her hackles up. “Yes, Doctor.” She grabbed her own coat and bag from under the desk before daring to ask, “Was it that bad?”

Dr. Buckner sighed up at the ceiling, and then started walking down the hallway. “It couldn’t possibly have been worse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as I said... Dr. Buckner has become a character in his own right now and has a part to play in all of this. I can't wait to see if/when/how he tries to redeem himself. I hope you'll stick around to see it, too.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading. Thoughts, feelings, queries, conundrums? You know what to do.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still reeling from her cataclysmic final appointment with Vincent, Melanie turns her attention to what the end of the N.I.T.E. program will mean for her personally and how it jeopardizes her place in Zootopia. While attempting to plan the rest of her time in the city as well as breakfast, who should come knocking at her door but the ZPD's intrepid bunny/fox duo. In their paws is a search warrant, and on their lips is a question that she doesn't want to answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy, this was a beast to write. Bet you all thought I died. Admittedly, I've also been writing _around_ this chapter for a while as well, but I think it's about time to get the show back on the road. Good news? Updates should be more frequent because I've gotten a lot of future scenes planned/written ahead. Thank you for your patience during this hiatus.
> 
> Be sure to congratulate yourselves... after this, we are just about through with chapters riddled with nothing but angst. Now that everyone's broken into itty bitty pieces, it's time. It's time for them to build each other back up again. It's not always going to be pretty, mind you, but there is going to be forward progress. Jr. Ranger Scout's honor.
> 
> But before that, be warned! Fury bun and snark fox ahead!
> 
> I hope you all enjoy.

Breakfast always was the worst meal of the day for Melanie, and Tuesday’s was turning into one of the most terrible in recent memory.

She knew when she went to bed without eating she would regret it, but after two subway rides spent in tears and the remaining eight block walk to get to her apartment, fixing a meal was the last thing she had wanted to do. It felt like pouring salt over the raw wounds that had been carved into her mind—a reminder that no matter how much she wished to be something different, a panda was all that she’d ever be. And the only things that pandas were good at were eating and sleeping.

So in a kind of personal protest, she didn’t really do either of those things after she returned home from her disastrous final appointment with Dr. Buck… with Vincent. Now she sat at the little table in the living room with a throbbing headache from a night of sobbing, a ravenous howling in her stomach, and an aching chest from the voicemails and text messages that she was struggling to get through.

And they were still coming.

<Dr. Leuca? I received a referral in the mail yesterday, but I don’t understand why…>

<I’d really like to talk about this with you? Please? If I did something wrong…>

<Do I have the right to refuse a referral? I don’t want a different doctor…>

<I need you to call me. Immediately. I won’t agree to switch his therapist until you explain how this is the best…>

After two dozen texts and another twentyish voicemails, Melanie finally just turned her phone off and buried her face in her arms on the table.

 _They don’t understand. They think you’re abandoning them._ A hissing sigh escaped, half muffled against her fur. _But what is the alternative explanation to give?_

At least she had ensured that they would be taken care of when she left Zootopia. When she was told to leave, that is. That was the most important thing… wasn’t it?

It was fortunate that she’d acted as quickly as she had and sent the referral notices over the weekend. Her access to the N.I.T.E. counselor online resource site was no longer active when she went to check it that morning—a precursor to her discharge from the program. Melanie anticipated she’d get some kind of formal notice in the mail soon enough. It was very possible that she already had. The thought that it might be sitting in her mailbox at that very moment, that piece of paper she pictured screaming in her face “YOU ARE NOT WANTED HERE ANYMORE,” that had already wrenched her patients away even before she laid eyes on it, added yet another layer of anguish to her already overburdened mind.

Couldn’t she stay? How hard would it be—how long would it take—to apply for permanent residency without the N.I.T.E. contract? It had taken so long to get through all the stipulations, all the convoluted terms and conditions, of her service when she’d signed it, she couldn’t wrap her pounding head around trying to read it all over again. There couldn’t possibly be enough time now to secure an extension before the program was terminated this week. Would they come knocking down her door to drag her off to the docks that same day? The next day? If she was ready or not?

The kettle started to whistle from the kitchen. Melanie hauled herself up out of her chair automatically to pour a cup of tea as she always did first thing in the morning. Moving through her daily rituals was unnecessary at this point since there was nothing that she had to prepare for (untrue—nothing that she _wanted_ to prepare for), no classes to arrange, and no appointments to coordinate. Continuing her routine was, she was certain, just a coping mechanism to keep from fully acknowledging the grim situation that she was about to find herself. It was nothing she hadn’t muddled through before, but this time was still different, and worse. She’d made the mistake (another mistake) of growing too attached to this place, to its mammals, to its sounds and smells and intricate little movements and… she already missed it all so much the very thought felt like dying.

Melanie stood in the doorway between the kitchen area and the small living room with teacup in paw. The sparsely furnished one-bedroom apartment was in a complete shambles, but then sorting through almost a year of one’s life is often a messy business. The suitcase she’d arrived with was open on the floor and already halfway filled; it wasn’t very large, so only the most necessary possessions were being allowed into it, of which she didn’t have many. The remaining space would be filled with items of clothing that she couldn’t do without.

There were also two cardboard boxes on the couch by the door along with a tiny knapsack, which was more suited for a child than a fully-grown adult panda. The two boxes were slowly dividing the non-essentials into ‘keep’ and ‘discard’ batches. There wasn’t much in the ‘keep’ box; the ‘discard’ box was overflowing. The small sofa, second-hand TV, and table set would all have to be left behind. She hadn’t realized just how much she’d accumulated over the past ten months… it was embarrassing.

Her brown eyes wandered to the far wall where the window was supposed to be. It was blocked by bundles of bamboo, as usual; her apartment never did see much natural light, much like the forest that Melanie hailed from. There were four of them, comprised of whole bamboo stalks with leaves and roots still attached, sitting in tubs of water to keep them fresh. It looked like there was a small jungle in the living room, but it wouldn’t stay that way. Those bundles never lasted very long—a few days if she was very conservative with her meals. If she continued to supplement…

 _THUNK THUNK THUNK!_ A pounding on her apartment door startled her and she dropped her cup of tea on the floor. The scalding liquid landed on her foot and made her yelp as a voice on the other side said firmly, “Dr. Leuca, this is the police! Please open your door!”

 _What?! Already?_ Melanie searched frantically for something to put on over her pajamas as she assessed the state of her packing. _I should have more time to prepare than this._

She found a long sweater that she was fairly certain was clean, and threw it over herself as she hurried to the entrance. The door swung inward as she stood on one leg and rubbed her burned foot with her paw. Melanie felt her insides turn to water.

Standing in the shabby hallway were two uniformed officers: the one that she had already met, Officer Hopps, whose face may as well have been carved out of marble; and beside her a red fox, who wore an expression so smug it immediately set Melanie’s already fraying mood even further on edge.

“Good morning, Doctor,” Officer Hopps said coolly. “Officers Judy Hopps and Nicholas Wilde, ZPD. You and I met last week, you may recall.”

 _How could I possibly forget?_ “Good morning, Officer Hopps,” Melanie said in a voice equally devoid of warmth as she set her foot back on the floor. “Very nice to see you again.”

“Yeah, you might want to hold that thought,” Officer Wilde said, and handed Melanie a single sheet of folded paper as Officer Hopps brushed past her into the apartment. “For you, Doc.”

“What is this?” Melanie demanded, simultaneously relieved that this didn’t appear to be an escort and appalled that they would barge into her home uninvited. Her ears rang and burned hot from the disgraceful state of her living space.

“ _This_ would be a search warrant for your apartment here.” Officer Wilde flicked the folded paper with his claw and stuck his paws in his pockets as he also entered, sniffing periodically here and there as he crossed the living room. “It’s just the one bedroom, right?”

 _Search warrant??_ Melanie nudged the door closed as she opened the piece of paper that had been given to her, regarding it as an adversary before she even laid eyes on the words. Already she anticipated the fight they would give her, and her stomach knotted in dread and still present hunger. She wouldn’t ask them the question when the answer was in her paws, to open her mouth and make clear her humiliating deficiencies as a mammal. As always, she’d endeavor to struggle through the swimming letters—the stress and hunger and lack of focus had twisted them all around, the warrant might as well have been written in hippoglyphics—and hope that it went unnoticed.

She remembered that she’d been asked a question, and willed herself to answer it… politely, if possible. “Yes, just the one…”

“Oh, good!” Officer Wilde flashed a toothy smile over his shoulder as he ambled up beside Officer Hopps, who was digging through the ‘discard’ box on the couch. “Then this shouldn’t take very long at all.”

“Don’t say that,” the bunny hissed with a swift smack to his gut. “It will take as long as it needs to. Although it would go faster if you would actually help me,” she added irately aside to him as she moved on to the forest against the wall.

“Just letting my nose take a walkabout first.” He inhaled a deep breath to illustrate that fact. “I’m willing to bet there’s nothing here. I’d have smelled them in the hall. You know how much those things stink…”

Melanie did wish they would stop talking while upending her things. Their voices were mingling with the wail in her ears and adding fuel to her anxiety, which was steadily mounting. She’d only made it through the first sentence, which just contained her name and address. No answers there.

“You know, that’s one thing you really don’t see much in Zootopia—bamboo.” Officer Wilde said. Again, the letters scattered like fishes. Melanie bit her tongue and started over.

“It’s an invasive species,” Officer Hopps commented, looking up and down the bright green stalks that reached all the way to the ceiling. “Illegal to plant in the city or any of the boroughs. Needs to be imported, and any remains incinerated.”

“Sounds expensive.” Officer Wilde sniffed at the leaves, noting the trace scent of almond. “Hey, Doc, is it true this stuff’s got cyanide in it?”

Another question directed at Melanie shattered her progress into jagged little shards. She tried to keep the frustration out of her voice as she answered, “Quite a bit, yes.”

“So you literally start your day with a big bowl of poison for breakfast. That is _cool_.”

Melanie snapped her head up at the sound of splashing water to see Officer Hopps wading her arm through one of the troughs that held the bamboo bundles. Her stomach roared in protest and she felt her muzzle twitch a warning. She swallowed hard and said feebly, “Please do not touch my food…”

“Tell you what, though, this is a real blast from the past, being back in my old neighborhood,” Officer Wilde said, waving his paw around at the apartment as he turned and walked back to where Melanie still stood. “Kinda surprised you’re set up in public housing in Happytown. Expected a bit of a swankier living situation for a… doctor…”

The fox’s ears sank down and he let the rest of his sentence trail off as he took a good look at the panda whose dwelling he and his partner were searching through. Twitching ears, forehead creased in deep frustration, and eyes on the verge of tears squinting over a piece of paper that she gripped like it would slither away if she didn’t dig her claws in.

Officer Wilde hadn’t been out of academy for very long, but this was not his first search warrant. Wouldn’t be his last. And one thing that he could say about the ones that he’d served thus far was that the mammals that had been the subjects of said searches were usually through with reading the thing by now. They’d refer to it, try to trip Hopps and him up and insist that they weren’t authorized to search _there_ , for _that_. This one, though… she was still tracing her claw along the second or third sentence. The lack of comprehension in Dr. Leuca’s face made his tail bristle.

She had no idea why they were there.

For some reason he was reminded of the kitten with the profound stutter in second grade, the one that the teacher would always call on to read aloud to the class, just to watch him squirm.

Nicholas Wilde was many things, but a bully wasn’t one of them. Since it appeared his partner had taken being the ‘bad cop’ a bit further than usual this past week, what would it hurt to swing his ‘good cop’ a little wider too, just this once?

“Hey.” Melanie tore her eyes again from the warrant with an exasperated whimper, resigned that she would have to sit in ignorance until they were through. When she looked at Officer Wilde, his smug expression was gone, replaced instead with wide green eyes that were bright with sincerity—and knowing. “Mind if I borrow that back for a second?”

She handed the page to him with a shaking paw (she’d just about given up on getting through it anyway, so what did it matter?). To her surprise, he straightened the crinkles and immediately began to read it out loud.

Officer Hopps’ poked her head out from the bamboo forest. “Wilde, what are you…?”

He held up a single digit toward her in a ‘wait’ gesture as he continued. It only took a minute for him to, graciously, read the contents of the search warrant to Melanie, something that she was sure would have taken her the better part of an hour in the state she was in. He spoke clearly, and left none of the written pieces out, right down to the signature. “…signed the honorable judge squiggly line, squiggly line, aggressive looping flourish, esquire.” Officer Wilde wrinkled his muzzle and stuck his tongue out. “Yeesh, what horrendous handwriting.” He handed the paper again to Melanie and resumed his smug smile as he folded his paws behind his back. “So, Dr. Leuca, maybe you’ll help a poor simple fox out and tell me why my nose is saying something completely different than what’s in this warrant.”

It was like a mountain had been lifted from Melanie’s shoulders; not how she expected she would feel to have her flaws so exposed (and surely he had figured her out, or else why had he just done that?). Officer Wilde was not condescending, was not annoyed, and still acknowledged her by the title that she’d worked so hard to earn, that she’d always irrationally feared would somehow be stripped from her if anyone knew the deficiency she constantly strove to hide.

Melanie liked the fox much more than she did when he first walked in. But at the same time, she decidedly _disliked_ the rabbit by an even greater margin.

She turned toward Officer Hopps with a hard glare. “You think I have nighthowlers? Me? _Here_?”

“The Floral Procurement Registry shows no license under your name for any purpose,” Officer Hopps said matter-of-factly, crossing her arms. “You have no authorization to be in possession of even a single nighthowler, and yet you had one at the N.I.T.E. session on Friday last. Care to explain why?”

Melanie clapped her mouth closed so fast she thought that she may have chipped a tooth. She didn’t like where this line of conversation was heading, and hoped that silence would be the best way to avoid the conclusion she now saw looming. It wasn’t, because her refusal to answer only prompted more questions from Officer Hopps as the bunny briskly crossed the apartment to where Melanie and Officer Wilde stood.

“Where did you get it?” Silence. “Did you buy it? Did you grow it?” More silence. “Did you _steal_ it?”

Melanie’s eyes flashed at the accusation. “I break no laws,” she snapped, her muzzle creasing with indignation.

“Why are you packing, then?” Officer Hopps waved a paw around at the slightly ordered chaos of the room. “If you did nothing wrong, then why does it look like you’re _fleeing_?”

 _I didn’t say I did nothing wrong…_ Melanie clamped her jaws shut and again said nothing.

Officer Wilde pursed his lips as he watched the increasingly heated tiff between the two females with more than a little concern. The air had become so thick with hostility that he thought he could cut himself a piece to eat while watching the show, though it probably would have tasted pretty bitter. _This is going nowhere good._

“You got it from somewhere,” Officer Hopps pressed, and leapt up on the arm of the couch so she could be at eye level with Melanie. “I want to know where.”

It was impossible not to be intimidated. Even though she was so small Melanie thought she could fit all of her in one paw, Officer Hopps’ aura filled the room. And being in the presence of it, being faced with what was an immutable force of nature that seemed set on prying the sordid details of her mistake out of her, Melanie was terrified.

Which, when she thought of the broken desk in Vincent’s office, was better than the only other alternative.

She clenched her fist, crumpling the warrant it held. “You do not know what you are asking.”

“I know exactly what I’m asking,” Officer Hopps retorted, leaning forward into Melanie’s face a little more, “and I think my questions have been pretty straightforward. Your refusal to answer them, you must admit, is mighty suspicious.”

“Why do you do this to me?” Melanie asked, her voice breaking. “Because I tell you no? Am I to be punished for protecting my patient?”

 _Okaaay… that’s news to me._ Officer Wilde’s ears shot up and he threw an inquisitive glance at his partner, suddenly sensing that he’d been kept in the dark about certain details he probably should have known long before this particular moment. “Hopps…?”

Officer Hopps ignored his question and the look he was giving her. Now wasn’t the time. “Our conversation is irrelevant. Fact is you broke the law.”

“I did not! I break no laws. I swear,” Melanie insisted, clasping her paws together. “Please, I am _begging_ you. Do not make me relive that night.”

Officer Hopps straightened up in mild surprise and combed her ears back with her paw. This really wasn’t going the way that she had expected, and despite the fact that there didn’t seem to be nighthowlers in this apartment (she had no reason to doubt Nick’s nose), there was still no denying the facts. There was no denying what she had seen at the session, which told her that the law had been broken. She decided to double down. “Look, either you explain here or you explain at the station. I know what I would prefer, but the choice is entirely yours.”

It was an insubstantial threat at best, because they didn’t really have probable cause to make her go anywhere if she decided to be uncooperative (which seemed likely). As luck would have it, Officer Hopps didn’t need to follow through on her flimsy warning; Dr. Leuca appeared to regard the possibility of a trip to the police station with intense alarm. She looked at Officer Wilde like she was hoping for his help, but of course he wouldn’t go against his partner. He stood in silence, and turned his head toward the table in the corner like it demanded his attention more.

The hunger had reached critical levels and Melanie felt her mind dulling. It was impossible to out-think either of the officers in her apartment, and what was the point of remaining silent if it meant they’d just tear everything apart until they found what they were looking for anyway? It was only a matter of time before she’d have to divulge what had happened, why she had no license… she felt sick.

“Fine,” she said, and hung her head in defeat. “Since you insist. But remember I advise against.”

Tugging hard at her ear, she walked past Officer Wilde to the suitcase on the floor behind him. Melanie rummaged around for a moment until her paw found the beat up wooden box that was tucked in the corner and, without risking another look at Officer Hopps, handed it to her fox partner. She pulled out the chair from the table, sunk heavily into it, and waited for the inevitable with her forehead resting in her paw.

Officer Hopps jumped down from the arm of the sofa beside Officer Wilde just as he edged the top off the box. There, sitting serenely inside just like it was at the session last week, was the little blue nighthowler.

Exactly as it was. A whole, perfectly formed, pristine specimen. Unchanged. Which was impossible, of course, because after four days in a box without light or water it should have been a withered, dried up husk by now.

Officer Wilde sniffed at it and rubbed one of the petals between his paw pads. “Um… was I supposed to be scenting for paraffin all this time? Because that’s the only smell I’m getting from this thing.”

He’d scarcely finished his sentence when Officer Hopps snatched the box from his paw, and rounded on the panda sitting at the table. In a single bound the rabbit had landed on the table in front of her, and she shook the blue flower in front of Melanie’s face as she demanded, “What is _this_?”

Melanie folded her paws on the table as she met Officer Hopps’ incensed eyes. “Is what you wanted. Nighthowler from session. Dyed silk and wax. Very convincing, I admit, but nothing I needed permit for.” Her face twisted into a grimace. “Now you understand?”

Officer Wilde was still a step behind the two of them, but it wasn’t that difficult to see where this was going. His partner’s entire body was quaking with barely suppressed anger. _Aaaaand looks like things just got a lot worse._

“You better explain yourself,” Officer Hopps said, her thundering heart pumping a wildfire through her veins. “ _Now._ ”

“I lied.” The words were so heavy that Melanie may as well have pulled them up from the center of the earth. “Very simple. I bring imitation to class, say is real. I try to force resolution for mammals so they no longer are afraid.”

“The entire time…” Officer Hopps stared at the flower in her paw as the full significance of what Dr. Leuca just said hit her. “The entire time I had my gun aimed at someone who posed zero threat, and you rutting _let me?_ ”

“He was no threat of being savage,” Melanie said, and dropped her eyes to focus on her fidgeting paws. “Does not mean no threat at all. I make best judgment I could given the circumstances…”

“And didn’t involve me in that decision when I was the one who stood to take a life?” Officer Hopps wasn’t trying to hold back anymore; her voice turned into a shout as she said, “Are you _insane_?”

Melanie flinched from the force of the words being thrown at her. “If I had said something, would it have made any difference?” she asked. “You are police officer. You see another mammal with weapon. You draw your gun, as you should. Someone you do not know whispers in your ear ‘it is not real.’ Does that change anything? You still must act with worst case in mind. Am I wrong?”

From nearby, Officer Hopps’ ears could only just hear her partner mutter under his breath, “Major Friedkin’s rule number three…”

 _Always assume every weapon is loaded until you know for certain otherwise._ She knew all the major’s rules by heart. That didn’t make it okay. That didn’t make any of this okay.

“Is that your excuse?” Officer Hopps demanded. “You could have just told the room. You could have let me make that choice for myself. You _should_ have _._ You just wanted to keep your lie from being found out.”

Melanie felt her ears twitching, and while she had no desire to continue defending her actions, she would anyway. Officer Hopps had insisted; now she’d hear all of it. “I could not tell you then.”

“WHY NOT?”

“Too many ears. Robert tries to prove point that prey are not affected by nighthowler. Suddenly, he is in position to do just that. Not my intent, but I gave him perfect opportunity. He holds thing that I said is dangerous flower, that everyone believes is true nighthowler. If he hears me say is not real, then what does matter if he eats it? He may become sick, but not savage. Now he has proof he wants. Evidence is destroyed, so then only would be my word against his that what he ate was replica. Who would believe me? Either way I am liar and he would say I just try to keep ‘truth’ from prey mammals. Damage done. Would set predator-prey relations in Zootopia back to before crisis, maybe more.” Melanie leaned back in her chair to put more distance between herself and Officer Hopps. “Even if we tried to force flower from him, no guarantee he would not become violent, hurt someone. Who was strong enough, fast enough to overpower him? Not me… not you.”

“Ah, don’t be so sure about that,” Officer Wilde chimed in. “There’s video evidence of Hopps flooring a rhino with a sucker punch to the face. Her takedowns are a thing of beauty.”

Melanie raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” Had she underestimated the rabbit officer? It seemed an impossibility looking back that she’d have had the speed or the strength to subdue Robert without injury, but at this point Melanie had been wrong about plenty of things, so why not this too? “Well… my mistake. Again. At the time, seemed only good outcome was to make him put it down himself.”

Officer Hopps narrowed her eyes, still riled but coming out on the other side of the blood boiling anger to settle into a rolling simmer instead. “And you were willing to risk me shooting him for that outside possibility?”

“No.” Melanie met Officer Hopps’ eyes with a look that was no less intense. “Not him.”

Officer Hopps gaped at her. “You’re full of it.”

“Why else would I place myself in front of you?” Melanie asked. “Would have been second best solution. I have no family like Robert to seek retribution for wrongful injury or… or worse. Was my fault… seemed only right to accept consequence, whatever that was.”

“You have some nerve,” Officer Hopps said, gritting her teeth. “Where do you get the _gall…_?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, time out.” Officer Wilde crossed his paws in front of him before this vitriolic conversation continued any further. “Listen, Doc, if this exercise or whatever was so important and you needed a nighthowler, why didn’t you just apply for a temporary permit? We executed, like, half a dozen at schools all last week. You’d have had the real thing for educational purposes and a police escort for it. A uniformed officer probably would have deterred that pig from being such a massive jerk, too. Why didn’t you just do that?”

“I tried to.” Melanie’s temper sparked, though it didn’t fully ignite; she’d forgotten the original insult that had led to her seemingly innocuous hoax in the first place. “My application was denied.”

Officer Wilde raised his eyebrows in surprise. “For what reason?”

Melanie looked at Officer Hopps and motioned her upturned paw toward her in invitation. _Why don’t_ you _explain that?_

There was silence for a few beats, and then Officer Hopps answered stiffly, “She’s not a citizen of Zootopia.”

The explanation hung heavy in the air between the three of them. Officer Wilde internally wrestled with the insinuation such a reason suggested; it was the same sort that he himself had dreaded receiving every day after he’d submitted his application to the Zootopia Police Academy: “After careful consideration (fox), we regret that we are unable to offer you (fox) a place in the upcoming class of…” “No, not your sort,” and “No, not your kind,” and “No, not you.” He’d been spared such a humiliation. In this particular instance, it seemed Dr. Leuca hadn’t.

A lifetime of hustles meant he usually had tight control of his facial expressions, but apparently some bit of indignation must have slipped through because she said, “Yes, this is face I make also when I receive response. Accidentally I am born somewhere else; I am not qualified for permit I seek. So I make other arrangement, take risk and tell a fib. What was the harm? I never thought would be such disaster. Was not supposed to go so wrong. I just wanted to do something special, to help them overcome their fears.” She scratched at the table, watched her claws make hairline scuffs in the laminate, and sighed. “I thought I could save them.”

Officer Hopps huffed, and took her notepad out; she was beyond ready to end this fiasco of a search and seizure. “Well, your _messiah complex_ put a lot of mammals in danger and nearly got someone killed. You made me accessory to it all. You’re lucky that no one got hurt.” She started writing on the notepad with an orange carrot-shaped pen. “I hope you’re real proud of yourself.”

Melanie seemed to deflate under the sharp words. She turned to Officer Wilde; she was as done with Officer Hopps as the rabbit was with her. “Am I under arrest?”

He looked from his partner to the panda and back again. This entire episode had been a jumble of errors, but as far as laws broken? Technically? “No.”

“Then if search is over, I believe I have right to ask you to please leave.” Melanie dared a glance back at Officer Hopps as she tore a piece of paper from the notepad. A plastic bag was unfolded from her utility belt, into which she dropped the flower… and also the little box that it had been kept in. Melanie blinked twice dumbly, only halfway comprehending. “What are you doing?”

“I’m having this tested to confirm your story,” Officer Hopps said in an emotionless monotone, and placed the piece of paper on the table. “Here’s your receipt. If what you say is true, it’ll be returned to you.”

 _No. No no no no no._ Panic crept into Melanie’s chest and she willed herself to remember to keep breathing. The last thing she wanted to consider was another anxiety attack like she’d had in Vincent’s office… the thought truly horrified her. She almost stumbled when she rose from her seat; her knees felt like they were made of gelatin.

“You can take the flower,” she said, and gripped the table to steady herself. “Please leave the box. It is mine.” _It was his._

“It was at the session, so it’s coming, too.” Officer Hopps jumped to the floor with the bag still in paw. “Let’s go,” she said tersely to Officer Wilde as she walked with hurried steps past him.

“It is only thing of value to me. Please.” She watched in frozen helplessness as Officer Hopps leapt up, turning the knob of the door and pulling it open with practiced skill. “Please?”

Officer Wilde looked back and forth between his partner and the doctor once, twice, three times, but nothing he thought to say was going to change where the two of them had ended up at this point. Officer Hopps was now actively ignoring Dr. Leuca, and walked with conviction out into the hallway as she called back to him, “Wilde! Come on!”

He ran his paw from his chin around to the back of his neck and scratched at his fur with a loud groan. “Well, my day is shot.” He gave Dr. Leuca what he hoped was a neutral look; proficient though he was at keeping his emotions under wraps, this whole experience had rubbed him entirely the wrong way also, and it was difficult to keep the frustration to himself. “You’ll get it back.”

The wide, staring brown eyes blinked once, and seemed to quit the tears that had been welling in them. He thought he could mark the very moment they turned into blank windows to nowhere. “I can expect fairness from her? I do not believe that. I would hold my breath until I die.” She released her grasp on the table and went to stand by the door. “You can tell her I say so.”

Officer Wilde’s face darkened half a shade. “Said a lot of things to my friend here, but I don’t remember hearing an apology.”

Melanie indicated the hallway with her paw, gesturing for him to get out. “Went so well for me before, I think I say no more things I do not mean.”

 _So, it’s gonna be like that, is it?_ Up shot his ears, and he allowed a few wrinkles to grace his muzzle as he walked over to stand in front of her, one paw set at his belt and the other left free to gesture his exasperation. “She shouldn’t have had to find out like that.” Open palm up to stop the obvious incoming argument. “Yeah, yeah, your paws were tied, bad scene, limited options, yadda yadda. I get it. Should’ve come clean long before now, is all I’m saying.” Officer Wilde set his other paw at his hip also and shook his head. “I want to like you, Doc. Mammals I know swear by you so you must be good at your job, but you know what? Not so much today.”

She glared down her snout at him and said, “Maybe I say same thing about you two, also.” His brow furrowed slightly at the rebuke, and Melanie took advantage of his hesitation to end the dialogue there and then. “I need to eat and you need to leave. Now.”

The smug smirk returned, and Officer Wilde slipped his paws into his pockets with fluid grace as he leaned forward into something vaguely resembling a bow. “Right. So sorry to keep you.” He turned and strode out the door as he added over his shoulder, “Maybe rethink the cyanide; seems you’re working through enough poison already.”

Melanie slammed the door behind him and stood blinking and numb in the middle of the living room. If she had anymore tears left to shed she imagined they probably wouldn’t stop, but it seemed that the spring had run dry. Everything had turned to ruin, the tiny keystone that held her together yanked away and now it was all coming down. All that she was, every last bit, crumbling and running out of her like sand until all that remained was the shrieking hunger.

She regarded the bamboo bundles with love and loathing, and approached them without any of the mathematical logic that normally accompanied every meal—the calorie counting, the time she’d spend eating versus the energy expended, how many other foodstuffs she would need to make up the difference. There was no room for intelligence right now. Only the animal desire to consume.

With a swipe of her paw the cord that held the stalks together was sliced, and they separated apart forward and back; the forest fell all around her. Melanie sat in the corner with one of the stems between her paws and began the tedious labor that would break it into pieces, to split its edible bits from the remaining refuse. First, the leaves; chew; swallow. Next, the roots; chew; swallow. Place the stalk between her teeth, crack the husk, strip it to reveal the soft sweet heart. Devour. Repeat.

Mindless action, so much effort for so little nourishment, however delicious. And after the exhausting task of feeding was through, which would take hours… there would be no work or diversion, only sleep. This was what a panda did. This was all a panda was, at its core. And somewhere buried beneath the sounds of crunching and cracking and chewing it occurred to the mammal named Melanie Leuca how foolish she’d been to think that she could ever be anything more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I bet you all thought that general info Melanie gave at the beginning of class was just flavor text... psych! I feel like M. Night Shyamalan... what a twist! I believe I mentioned somewhere that Melanie f-ed up big time. Ta da! Behold her monumental blunder, in all its form and glory. That's a mighty heavy burden to bear. Poor little panda. Rest now. It'll be better in the morning. Cross my heart... and maybe my fingers. ;)
> 
> If you're tired of the therapist who is currently embodying just about every destructive coping mechanism on the face of the planet, don't worry... next chapter we'll be taking a break from her and checking in on some of our other characters. Then... oh, boy, and then... *whisper squeal* backstory.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading. Questions, thoughts, queries, conundrums? Go ahead and do the thing.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the search at Dr. Leuca's apartment, Judy and Nick have an uncomfortable discussion regarding the events at the final N.I.T.E. session. Meanwhile, all across Zootopia news of the program's impending demise stirs up a host of negative feelings for patients and the doctors serving them. How can the mammals affected continue moving forward when their support is being cut down at the knees?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised more timely updates, didn't I? A short (ahaha... short, right, very funny, Pandora) interlude with the rest of our characters while Melanie sleeps. I think we can all agree she needs a rest. It's gonna be a little rough, but I promise that there is light at the end of the tunnel. 
> 
> On with the show!

The door slammed behind Nick just an instant after his tail had cleared the frame, and he cringed as the sound of it shocked his ears.

 _Last bit may have been too much._ Paws thrust deeper into his pockets, he walked with even steps down the hall to join Judy where she was waiting by the ancient elevator.

He stood beside her and faced the brushed metal doors as he said tightly, “So, that went _well_.”

“Not another word, Nick.” Judy stabbed the down button yet again with her claw.

“Sure hope you’ve made peace with your tail,” he continued, “because Bogo’s gonna pin it to the wall.”

“I said zip it.”

Nick snorted. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

Her ears shot up as she cast a sideways look at him. “What are _you_ brooding about?”

“Let’s see… if I ignore the fact that I somehow got downgraded to ‘need to know’ status for this case?” He shot her a piercing glance from the corner of his eye. “If I ignore that, I did just serve a search warrant to a mammal that could barely read it. That really doesn’t sit well with me, Carrots.”

“She’s a flipping doctor, for crying out loud!” she said in exasperation. “How was I supposed to know?”

“Your powers of observation would have told you in a second if you hadn’t gone all gung ho super cop in there. What’s got you acting like such a dumb bunny?”

Mercifully, the elevator doors chose just that moment to open. They both stepped inside before Judy offered any response, and she kept silent as the doors closed. With a lurch, the elevator began its painstakingly slow descent back to the ground floor.

It had been more than a week of this now, and steadily getting worse. The witty banter, the puns, the one-upmanship that had become welcome and downright cherished exchanges with his partner had gone missing somewhere in between all the fuss over the anniversary of the Nighthowler Incident. The cheerful, playfully antagonistic bunny had been replaced with some kind of imposter that didn’t seem to want anything to do with Nick at all. Each day they’d spent less and less time laughing and shooting the breeze and more and more time in uncomfortable silence. And after work, hanging out? No time at all.

Had he done something wrong? Why did it feel like, slowly but surely, Judy was… quitting him?

Nick twitched his ears as he caught sight of the plastic baggie clenched in her paw that held the blue flower and little beat up box that was apparently of the utmost importance to the panda that they had taken it from.

Judy caught him staring. “What?”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Nick replied, and nodded at the bag with a soft face, trying desperately to just talk to her straight like he used to be able to.

Judy switched it to the other paw and it went out of his sight. “I was being thorough.”

“You were being _mean._ Not a word I would normally use to describe you, Fluff.”

Her ears slicked back. “This is my job. I did my job.”

“You think that was doing your _job_?” Nick asked rhetorically. “You think any of that made the world a better place? Everything about that scene just reeked of ‘personal.’ I’d like to know why that would be.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Judy countered, turning on him with a fierce look he’d never seen before and hoped to never see again. “She withheld vital information from me, and I nearly killed someone. I was half a heartbeat from pulling the trigger. And she doesn’t get to tell me that it would have been just fine and dandy if I shot her instead. She doesn’t have the right to make that decision, because that still would have been on my conscience _always._ So, you know what? Yes. It absolutely is personal. One hundred percent.”

“Wasn’t talking about that part. That part I understand. Before that.” His face softened even further as he shook his head. “It was personal before you walked through the door.”

The elevator reached the ground floor and opened wide to release them out into the threadbare lobby with a décor at least thirty years out of date. Judy’s ears shot straight up over violet eyes narrowed and reproachful.

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” she said curtly, and was walking with quick steps across to the building entrance and away from him. Nick had to hurry to catch up as she shoved into and through the door out of the foyer. The bright sunshine of the late morning served as a stark contrast to the gloomy disposition that was radiating off Judy in waves.

“Hey, come on!” Nick said, falling into step beside her as they cut a path straight across the scorched lawn and unkempt flower beds toward the Prowler parked across the street. “Of course I’m on your side. I’m _always_ on your side, and I always will be. Part of being on your side is calling out when you’re toeing a line you shouldn’t cross.”

Judy didn’t respond to him until they were both buckled in the cruiser, the engine rumbling beneath them and her paws gripped so tight around the steering wheel Nick thought that her claws were going to leave marks in the plastic. “So, I’m wrong, then?”

“I didn’t say you were wrong.” He tried to meet her eyes but it seemed that the mileage on the odometer was worthier of her attention at the moment than he was. “And I didn’t say she was right, either.”

“It’s one or the other.”

“No, it really isn’t. When you cool down, you’ll see that.”

He caught a very slight blush in the pinks of her ears before she dropped them back again and put the car into drive. He decided to give it one last try. “Judy, why were you at a N.I.T.E. session?”

The prowler braked hard and short, driving Nick’s chest into the seatbelt and then flinging him back against the seat. Judy closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the steering wheel in weary frustration.

“Could you… just stop talking?” she murmured. “Please?”

He sighed. _Shut down again._ “If that’s what you want.”

“It really is.”

He flicked his aviators open with a half-hearted flourish and placed them on his muzzle, setting his elbow against the door and his fist under his sullen face. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

So Nicholas Wilde settled into a silent and awkward ride back to the ZPD with his very best friend and partner, to whom he had been so certain he could say anything, and to whom now it seemed nothing could be said.

*****

Kathleen Hoarfrost sped across three districts at half the speed of sound and was at the Wagner house within twenty minutes of Nathan’s phone call cancelling their dinner plans. The sun was just setting at the edge of the Meadowlands, and the yellow and orange hues it cast on the wide-open grasses made it look as though the world had been set aflame.

She was still fairly certain that the fire pumping through her bloodstream was hotter.

The car skidded to a halt in the gravel driveway and was barely parked before she grabbed the dish of food from the passenger seat and bolted to the house. The front door was unlocked, and she let herself in as she called out, “Nathan? I’m here. Where are you?”

“Kitchen,” was the exhausted response, although Kathleen was realizing from the smell of the house it was impossible for Sam’s mate to be anywhere else.

There were so many incredible smells mixing, mingling, overwhelming her nose as she walked down the hall to the kitchen with hurried steps. The eclectic array of scents grew stronger as she approached; there was chicken prepared three different ways, two types of fish, cricket casserole, minced mealworm pie, the delectable aromas of gravies, broths, marinades… her mouth started watering so much that she wondered if she would be able to speak without drooling.

Nathan Wagner’s brawny form was hunched over the table with his paws gripped tightly around his head. He must have been cooking for hours, which was something he was well acquainted with having trained for years to be an accomplished chef. All around was the fallout of his frenzied afternoon, pots and pans and utensils and bowls piled precariously on the counters and in the sink, trays and trays of food set out in front of him. The wolf’s black fur stuck in greasy clumps from the oils, dusted with flour. He looked up at Kathleen as she came through the doorway, golden eyes already glistening.

“He won’t eat any of it, Kathy.” He looked forlornly at the fruits of his labor as she sat on the bench beside him and added her own container to the spread. “I thought he just didn’t have much of an appetite when I brought him home, but it’s deliberate. He locked me out of the bedroom, blocked the door. He’s been praying all day. I don’t know what to do.” Nathan pressed the button to wake his cellphone and his face fell even further, as though he’d been hoping for an alert or a message that again wasn’t there. “I don’t know how many times I’ve called Dr. Leuca…”

“Something must have happened,” Kathleen said, her voice edged in uncertainty; she didn’t know if she wanted that to be the case or not. “Stop calling her and call the hospital.”

“I don’t want to send him back there. He never leaves there better; he always leaves worse. Literally the only times he’s ever had any improvement was after talking to her.”

“The time for talking is over. Sam needs… he needs something else. Something stronger. Maybe medication or—”

“You know he’d never—”

“Make him!” The words came out half hysterical, and made Nathan’s ears shoot straight up. Kathleen looked away quickly. “I’m sorry. I just… there must be other options.”

Nathan sighed. “I don’t want to consider the options that are left. It’s things like institutions, and homes, and sedation, and I… I don’t know how I can do that to him, and… Kathy, I can’t…”

He broke down then in whimpering sobs, and buried his face in his paws as Kathleen hugged him around the shoulders. Little half howls escaped between shaky breaths as he leaned into her embrace.

“He’ll die here,” she whispered into the fur on top of his head.

“He’ll die there.” He swallowed a low whine. “At least here… at least here I know no one will hurt him and… and I’ll get to see him when… if…”

“Let me stay here tonight,” she interrupted before he finished the thought that would undo her fragile state of mind. “Please. We’ll take turns. We’ll talk through the door and keep offering food. And tomorrow… if there’s no change, then tomorrow let’s give those other options more consideration.”

Nathan nodded into her chest dumbly; he was far past words now. Kathleen screwed her face up against the sorrow that threatened her fury, and thanked whatever deity saw it fit to accept the gratitude for allowing her refuge here. She was certain that if she left this house tonight that her path would not lead her back to her own home again, but to the home of Robert LeBoare.

And, oh… oh, the horrible things she imagined for him brought her teeth to bare and her claws slipping noiselessly from their sheathes, all those tiny scythes so perfectly shaped, so perfectly evolved, so perfectly suited for perfectly savage, perfectly unspeakable deeds.

*****

The day had started with a full tissue box on Sadie’s desk, but it seemed just about every patient had either arrived or left in tears and it was totally empty now. She hadn’t felt this frazzled at work in a long time, but today had shot all of her nerves into bits so small they could pass through the eye of a needle.

Dr. Buckner was looking similarly stressed as he came up beside her desk at the end of their very long day.

“Please tell me that was the last one,” he said after the front door had closed behind the final hysterical patient. The waiting room was empty except for the two of them.

“There are no more appointments, no, but there are three phone messages you’ll probably want to address before you leave,” Sadie replied, handing a list of names and phone numbers up to him without looking away from her computer screen.

Dr. Buckner looked it over and groaned. “God, did _every_ mammal in Zootopia attend that damn seminar last week?”

Sadie kept typing. “The paper also ran an article this morning about the anticipated axing of the N.I.T.E. program at the City Council session on Friday. A lot of folks are pretty upset about it.”

“Which is absurd. Every single service that program offered is still available to anyone that needs them.”

“Except the free group sessions,” she corrected him, “which I think was the most helpful part for many mammals.”

“Of course,” Dr. Buckner said sarcastically as he rolled his eyes. “Naturally, everyone grouses when ‘free’ things go away. Heaven forbid a service provided actually results in compensation tendered…”

And that was the bit that put Sadie over the edge. After a day filled with nervous breakdowns and payment plan discussions (because the insurance assistance and reduced out of pocket expenses that N.I.T.E. had provided for those impacted by the crisis would likely be dissolved along with the program), her fuse had grown too short to suffer the tactlessness of her boss.

She struck the last few keys especially hard and turned on him with a face full of ire. “The _free things_ were what many of those mammals could afford,” she said, her ears pinned back with annoyance. “You haven’t done your books in a while, so maybe you’ve forgotten how much an hour of your time costs. When it comes down to a choice between food or mental healthcare, take a guess which one most would choose. Hint: you can’t eat therapy. Hell of a thing to have to do just because some unhinged sheep went on a power trip.”

Sadie spun back around to focus on shutting her computer down for the night, not venturing to look at whatever venomous glare Dr. Buckner might have been giving her. She regretted her outburst immediately and braced herself for the inevitable tongue-lashing she was certain was coming. It came as quite a surprise when he said nothing in response except a muttered goodnight and returned back to his office.

The thought that she had gotten away with putting him in his place didn’t give Sadie any sort of pleasure, despite her mind’s insistence that it probably should. By the time she’d gathered her things together to leave, her stomach was wracked in discomfort considering the possible latent repercussions she might experience tomorrow. She shouldered her bag, took a deep breath, and walked with tentative steps down the hallway.

The door to his office was open and Dr. Buckner was seated at his desk, just putting the phone back on the holster when he caught sight of her at the threshold. He folded his hooves on the desktop as Sadie stopped in the doorway and he met her eyes with his usual assessing stare.

“Listen, Doctor,” she said, trying to maintain eye contact and ultimately failing. “I’m sorry for what I said. It was such a trying day, and I just—”

“Did you mean it?” he interrupted.

She blinked, mouth still halfway open. “What?”

“Did. You. Mean. It,” he repeated, giving each word its own brusque sentence for emphasis.

Her heart thumped like it had tripped over itself, and her fur stood right up on end. Lying would certainly be less combative, but why shouldn’t she be able to say how she felt? “Yes.”

“Then I’ll thank you not to insult me with a feigned apology.” Dr. Buckner steepled his hooves just under his chin and Sadie felt like his eyes were cutting right through her. “I realize that my opinion of N.I.T.E. is unpopular, but I really don’t care. I don’t appreciate being voluntold to do a task without being adequately compensated for my effort—and it _is_ an effort. To insist that Zootopia’s therapists shoulder the responsibility of planning and moderating such high volume, high risk, high stress sessions _for free_ , and that it was expected service despite any possible personal reservations, was also a hell of a thing to do. I can think of at least one counselor that has been _irreparably_ harmed by that rutting program. So, pardon me if I don’t share in the collective lament for the end of N.I.T.E. I’m not sorry to see it go. At all. And I mean that, too.”

He picked the phone up and went back to his messages, dismissing her. Sadie felt her ears blazing, and she bit her lip; she knew she should have just left. Dr. Buckner wouldn’t attempt to understand the side that was inconvenient to him; he never did.

“Right. Yes, understood,” she said, and swallowed the break that threatened her normally firm voice. “Well, maybe they just thought you all were the best ones to turn to, after all? Since it’s your specialty? Since you’re part of this city, too?”

He stabbed the receiver with his hoof and started to redial the numbers again. He was done with her. But she wasn’t done with him.

“A lot of mammals I know appreciated the effort,” Sadie continued. “You might not realize that; they’re not the type of mammals that you would see, anyway. But being able to get even a little help and still take care of their families made a big difference in their lives. So… it’s a disappointment that it’s ending, is all.” She turned away and started back to the waiting room. “See you in the morning.”

Dr. Buckner glanced at the doorway just in time to watch her short tail disappear from view. Of course he would see her in the morning. She’d always be back at work the next day. More than a decade working in this office with her, and that was something he knew—no matter what he did or said—he could always count on.

It occurred to him that he probably never told her that.

He put the phone up to his ear as it began ringing and mulled over their heated conversation. Something she said was sticking in his brain, like a shard of broken glass, and he scrunched up his face into a frown.

 _‘Not the type of mammals I would see’?_ And then Melanie stepped in front of his mind’s eye, staring at him with narrow and disapproving brown eyes. _“Seems you will only help certain of those that are hurting…_ _Happy to fill your waiting room with rabbits and sheep and pigs.”_

Dr. Buckner blinked with a sharp breath and her image dissolved. It took a moment before he realized that his patient had picked up and was escalating her <Hello?!> to a decibel that his ears weren’t comfortable with.

“Good evening, Louise. It’s Dr. Buckner, returning your call from earlier,” he said as he pinched the bridge of his snout under his glasses. “Yes, I know… no, that’s a perfectly valid reaction. It was a shock for many others, also…”

*****

It was well past quitting time. Judy should have clocked out hours ago, but instead she was still agonizing over the day’s paperwork. The update with Chief Bogo after the debacle at Dr. Leuca’s had gone about as well as expected. She was thankful that she only got reassigned to parking duty for the rest of the week instead of the rest of her life.

Judy squeaked with surprise as something came flying across her desk from her peripheral view. She grabbed for it on impulse before it fell off the edge, and came back to center holding the plastic bag containing the box and blue flower.

“So, tests came back negative for nighthowler residue,” Nick said as he rolled his chair up beside her and swung his leg around to straddle it backwards. He rested his chin atop his folded arms as he draped them over the seat back. “Real shocker there.”

“What?” Judy said, and then noticed the release that had been attached to the bag. “How’d that happen so fast?”

He shrugged. “Eh, I put a rush on it. Mack owed me a favor.”

She rolled her eyes. “Is every mammal in this city indebted to you for something?”

“Just about.” Nick pulled his tie out and let his collar loosen up a button as he cocked his head to the side. “You want to call her to pick it up, or should I?”

“Kinda late to call now,” Judy said, and chewed her lip as the thought of another conversation with Dr. Leuca intensified her dour mood. She went back to her report. “I’ll do it. When I get in tomorrow.”

“Just a reminder that I have the day off… spending it with Finnick. Haven’t seen mah wittle boy in a while.” Nick poked her arm playfully. “Why don’t you come out with us after work?”

“Covering second shift.” She didn’t even turn away from the screen as she declined his invitation at once. “Thanks anyway.”

Nick heaved an aggravated sigh. “When are you gonna tell me what’s going on with you?”

“I’m fine.” _Lie._

“You’re not. This whole past week you barely talk to me. You wind up at a N.I.T.E. class? Then today—”

“I _said_ I’m fine.” _Lie._

“I’ll go ahead and continue to not buy it. And I don’t know why you won’t tell me what’s wrong. You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” _Truth._ But how could she tell him _this_? How could she _remind_ him?

Nick put his paw to his ear and looked over Judy’s head. “Judges?” he said in his best television personality voice. “Oooh, I’m so sorry, but your answer must be in the form of a question.”

“ _Goodnight_ , dumb fox.”

“Taking the hint, calling it quits.” Nick pushed off from her desk with his foot and rolled back to his own desk, spinning around and dismounting from the chair with flair. He looked for a little reaction, a little smile, but Judy had kept her back turned and was now jotting down notes with her carrot pen. He sighed again, and slung his jacket over one shoulder as he headed out of their shared workspace. “Don’t stay too late, Hopps. Even you need your beauty sleep.”

Judy watched after Nick with just her eyes as he made his way through the cubicles, throwing good-natured jokes and teasing remarks at their coworkers on his way out the door. She kept watching until his tail had disappeared, and found herself staring at the doorframe even after he had gone.

 _FLASH! “Officer Hopps, do you have any comment on this first anniversary of the Nighthowler Incident?” A microphone was thrust in front of her face as the eager ferret reporter rapid-fired cheerful venom-laced questions at her. “Anything to say to the predators affected? Have you personally taken any action to atone for the part you played in escalating the crisis last year?” The questions followed after her, even as she abandoned her groceries and bolted as fast as her legs would take her in the opposite direction. “What is your partner’s opinion regarding…? Have you done_ anything at all _…?”_

The next blink felt wet on her lashes and she screwed her eyes shut so tight it hurt. _It’s literally all I want, is to talk to you. How can I risk it, though?_

Things were supposed to be back to normal by now. She was supposed to be over this by now. She was supposed to be able to talk to him again like before. Why did it still feel like ‘anything’ had an asterisk attached to it, an addendum of potential consequences that would ruin their friendship, their partnership? That the only thing that had been on her mind—the one thing the whole past week she had wanted to discuss—was the one subject she was terrified to broach with him? That it was safer to say next to nothing, than say something she couldn’t take back? What if it drove him away again?

Wasn’t that stupid N.I.T.E. class supposed to clear it all up? Make it all right again? All it did was make everything worse.

Irritation flared, turned her attention away from Nick and back to the morning’s calamity. The tip of her pen dug deeper into her notepad as she wrote out the to-dos for tomorrow that she didn’t finish today. It wasn’t right the way that the doctor had used her to control the situation. How could she? Wasn’t that panda supposed to be some kind of specialist; why did she need to remotely wield Judy’s gun to resolve the whole ordeal? To add that to her already stressed out brain seemed downright irresponsible, not to mention unfair.

But then again, the outcome _had_ been the best one, hadn’t it? Dr. Leuca wasn’t wrong about that boar. He was absolutely the sort that would use a ruse to further his own agenda, and his was an agenda that Zootopia needed to keep well away from. It wouldn’t have taken much. All he needed to do was put it up on the internet and let it go viral: “PROOF PREY IMMUNE TO NIGHTHOWLER TOXIN.” There would have been plenty of witnesses. It wouldn’t matter that it wasn’t true. And who was there to contest it? “A foreigner!” he would say. “Not even one of us! How can you trust anything _she_ says?!” That was how he talked. That was what he did. That was what he _would_ have done.

 _What a mess._ Judy stopped writing and took a deep, steadying breath. “But real life is messy, isn’t it?” she said to her carrot pen as she set her other elbow on the desk and cradled her face in her paw. Judy tossed it into the cup by her computer monitor and opened up the seal on the plastic bag. The box and little flower spilled out onto her desk and she picked up the silk prop by its base. Even though she knew it was an imitation, she swore she could smell nighthowler poison wafting off of it.

“We all make mistakes, don’t we?” she continued, and spun it around between her fingers.

All those poor mammals. And there were so many of them, so many lives broken by what had happened during the Nighthowler Incident. _By what I said,_ she thought dismally. And for them to go through it all over again, making up the ground that would have been lost, having to live through something so reminiscent of the crisis a second time around… more fear, more anger, more hate. At the time she wouldn’t have admitted it, but Judy started to wonder if she would have done something similar to keep that from happening to them. Like she would have last year, if she’d only known. If she hadn’t let an unfair presumption taint her view of what was going on. If she’d stuck around long enough to figure it out…

“We all have a lot in common,” Judy murmured to the box. “Maybe she’s a trier, too?” She picked it up between her paws and turned it this way and that, studied the nicks and scratches, a deep crack that nearly split one side but had been meticulously glued back together.

 _The more we try to understand one another…_ “She just wanted to make a difference, huh? Fell a little short this time? Can’t say I don’t know what that’s like.”

Nick had hit it on the nose, of course. Even if it wasn’t right, Dr. Leuca hadn’t been completely in the wrong. And she was probably still the best one to talk to about this… hang up that had started to seep into Judy’s life and work. If she was still willing to talk to her at all, that is.

Judy picked up the phone and punched in Dr. Leuca’s contact number off the report. It was getting late, but she was a doctor; she was probably used to receiving phone calls at hours later than this. She put the phone up to her ear and tried to plan out what she would say, but the call went straight to voicemail.

 _Weird._ Judy tried again, with the same result. _Did she turn her phone off?_

Her ears dropped back as she hung up the receiver. She had been too hurt and downright infuriated to see it at the time, but now that she thought back on the interaction with the panda that morning, didn’t she seem… crestfallen? Despondent? Maybe afraid? What did the doctor who was all about acknowledging and overcoming fear have to be scared of? Judy started chewing at the tip of her ear as worry crept up into her thoughts. What was with the luggage? Dr. Leuca hadn’t broken the law, so why _was_ she packing? Why did it look like she was leaving the city?

With a few hasty keystrokes her report was finished, and Judy shut the computer down. _Tomorrow is another day,_ she thought as she grabbed up the plastic bag and closed the contents back into it. She zipped out of her workstation straight toward the building exit and home. _And I’m gonna make sure it won’t be any worse._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK GOD FOR YOU, JUDY. Finally, someone is behaving like an adult and frickin' OWNING THEIR ACTIONS. You rock, bun. I knew you had it in you. Now go be awesome.
> 
> Alright guys, at last we're heading in the right direction. I believe in Judy, and you should too... she's totally got this.
> 
> Thoughts, questions, queries, conundrums? Hit up the comments! As always, your feedback is most welcome and I thank you all for reading.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghosts from Melanie's past haunt her dreams while she sleeps, and she awakens to another visit from Judy Hopps. What reason could the bunny have to be at her door so soon after their previous quarrel?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo... yeah, I've got nothing. Please pardon my tardiness; I was really shooting to update around Little Christmas but, well... you know how the holidays go. ^_^ Anywho... more words for you, my lovely readers. And guess what? I overwrote my planned chapter again (big surprise!), so you all get two chapters today instead of one! I hope that makes up for it a little. ;)
> 
> Alright, you know the drill by now. Incoming trigger warnings:  
> ~child abuse/neglect (emotional, brief physical description)  
> ~psychological abuse/manipulation
> 
> As you may have already guessed, Melanie didn't sleep well. :-/
> 
> And away we go!

The tranquil night was shattered by the sound of screaming.

A full moon hung low in a cloudless sky over the endless bamboo forest below. The green woods absorbed its soft light, the tall stems and leaves catching each beam long before it met the ground. The air was cool and still; not even a whisper of wind moved through the trees. The bleating cries carried for miles around the small house tucked among the bamboo at the base of the mountainside.

“ _Get out, you stupid little ingrate!_ ”

The door swung wide and a giant panda stepped out onto the deck, dragging her wailing cub by her ear behind her. She twisted once, hard, and threw the little girl to the ground in front of the house.

“ _Sleep in the forest and pray that it forgives your trespass_ ,” she snarled as the cub struggled to right herself, wide brown eyes streaming tears. “ _I’d better not hear a peep from you until sun up._ ” She turned on the balls of her feet and headed back into the house. “ _And clean your face. You’ll attract the spotted monsters._ ”

With that, she slammed the door shut. A harsh, scraping noise of wood on wood followed, the telltale sound of unwelcome and unwanted and unloved.

The cub sobbed in the dirt, and tried to rub the ringing out of her ear with one paw while she gingerly wiped her nose and mouth with the other. Her paw pads came away wet with blood; she wasn’t entirely sure how much of it was hers. She half crawled on shaking legs to the small space beneath the deck stairs and sat with knees drawn into her chest, nursing the places that hurt and licking her muzzle until the warm taste of iron was gone.

Her mother said to sleep in the forest and hope for forgiveness, but such a thought was so terrifying that she couldn’t bring herself to venture any further from the relative safety of the house. How could she commune with a thing that seemed set on denying her life every day? The bamboo stalks had already broken one of her teeth, the leaves were too high for her to reach, and the roots she wasted so much energy to dig out provided so little food. The hunger just kept growing, and it seemed the forest wouldn’t help her partake of its bounty at all.

And what did it care if she ate a dead bird anyhow? Was it really going to miss a tiny sparrow carcass that much? There was a brief moment of frustration when she wondered if it wasn’t the forest that cared so much but her mother. The thought didn’t make it much further than that when she caught sight of something shifting on the other side of the fence. Sheer dread seized hold of her senses, and she could focus on nothing else.

It moved like liquid shadow with eyes of flame out of the darkness beyond. Up and over the fencepost it slipped with effortless grace, and stalked in lithe, calculated steps low along the ground. It paused only once to pop its head up while passing the front window as the light went out before resuming its path straight toward the cub under the stairs.

“ _Liú xiàlái!_ ” she managed to hiss, and inched even further beneath the steps. “ _Stay back!_ ”

As the shaded figure approached closer and closer, the less otherworldly and more mammal it became. First, she noticed the ears, pointed and in perpetual motion, turning this way and that. Next, the paws, wide and silent, that seemed to glide over the terrain while scarcely touching it. Then, the tail, long and thick, a constant counterweight for every movement, every shift, every turn. And last, the face, male and feline, a mild and cautiously kind expression, with dark amber eyes that had blazed eerily in the scattered light of the moon but now seemed to hold an inner warmth much more welcoming than menacing.

All these things together might have been fine if not for the fur pattern, and it was suddenly all she could see. Knotted spots of black and gray and white spread from nose to tail. Too late she realized what this thing was that had come slinking out of the dark. Snow leopard. Ghost cat. Spotted monster.

She swiped her paw out and bared her teeth, even as the tears continued to drip down off her snout. “ _Get away from me!_ ”

The leopard cub paused, and then sat back on his heels with his tail curled up around his feet to support his balance, the blackened tip lifting up and down. “Are you all right?”

She didn’t understand the noises he was making, but it sounded like he was… speaking to her? Did the beasts from the mountain have a language?

“Are you all right?” he repeated, but again she didn’t understand. “You were screaming.”

“ _Go away!_ ” she said in a harsh whisper, and took another swipe out in front of her. “ _Monster!_ ”

He leaned away from her swat, and furrowed his brow in a little confusion and a lot of concern. “I don’t know what you’re saying, but I want to help. Can you speak Common at all?”

None of his words, if that’s what they were, matched anything even vaguely resembling Pandarin. She snapped her teeth and tried again to claw at him. This time he blocked her paw, and eased it down and away from himself. Fluid strength, rock hard and so quick she could barely follow his movements. The significance of the gesture was clear: _You cannot hurt me, but I can hurt you._

“ _Please…_ ” she whimpered, and shrank back until she hit the support beam for the stairs. Trapped. “ _Please don’t eat me._ ”

The leopard cub reached up to rub the back of his neck. “I guess that’s ‘no’ on the Common, then.” He gave her a tiny smile. “Don’t be scared. I just want to help. Look, see?” He held up his paw to show her that his claws were still tucked away. “Soft paws. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Her sniffling continued even as the tears stopped, uncertainty slowly replacing the fear. Why wasn’t he attacking her? Wasn’t that what they did?

She noticed then the touches of civilization that she had overlooked when all she could see was the markings on his fur. Crisp tan pants, a dark vest that fit him well (her own now filthy dress was a size too big for her), and a small knapsack on his back.

At that moment her stomach decided to remind her of the sorry condition it was in, and she clutched her arms around her middle at the pain and the howling noise it made. The leopard’s ears flattened. It wasn’t words, but it was something that he at last understood. That was a language that was universal.

“Are you hungry?” he asked gently as he unslung his knapsack from one shoulder. “You look like a predator. You can have some of my food if you like.”

He dug around in his bag and brought out a little box of dark lacquered wood tied around with string to keep it closed. He eased the tie off along with the top, and a sweet smell of smoked fish and ginger wafted to the little girl’s nose. She eyed it skeptically, although her mouth immediately began to water at the enticing aroma.

“I hate haddock, anyway,” the leopard said, setting the box on the ground and pushing it toward her. “Here you go. Have as much as you want.”

She hesitated only a fraction of a second before she pounced the offering, practically inhaling every last piece of fish and licking the box clean of the marinade that they had been dressed with. It was little more than a snack, but much more than she’d had to eat all day. She lost track… maybe all week.

“ _Thank you._ ” She looked away as she pushed the container back to him sheepishly. “ _You’re nice. I’m sorry I called you a monster._ ”

“Wow, good work.” He accepted the now completely clean box and tucked it into his bag again. “Feel better now?”

It was strange to talk to someone with no expectation of being understood, but the leopard cub hoped that maybe some bit of meaning would get through to this… he wasn’t sure what she was, actually, but she was a mammal and she was hurt, and that was all that mattered. He couldn’t grasp the words that her mother had been shouting, or the whispered sentences that she’d hissed at him, but he was positive there was pain and fear and anger in all of them. That was no way to spend a night, certainly not outside alone.

He took a chance and reached his paw out toward her in invitation to shake, but the motion made her flinch violently and recoil away again. He drew back at once.

“No, it’s okay. Remember? Soft paws.” He tried again, even slower this time, painfully slow. “I won’t hurt you. I promise.” He held that position for a short eternity, but she still kept the same wide-eyed face, tense and trembling as far away as she could be.

He brought his paw in to his chest. “Asher.” He pointed at her, and waited for a few seconds before trying again. He did this two more times before he saw something like comprehension flit across her face.

 _A name? They have names, too?_ The cub let herself relax just the tiniest bit, pointed to herself and said through a rough hiccough, “ _Méiyǒu._ ”

“Mei?” His face brightened into a brilliant smile. “That’s a pretty name.”

Her breath got stuck in her throat and a hot blush spread all the way to the back of her neck. “ _What did you call me?_ ”

“Boy, I wish I could understand you.” He chewed on his lip thoughtfully and then his ears perked straight up. “I might know someone that could help with that. But you have to leave these stairs. Can you do that, Mei?”

 _He said it again._ She stared unblinking into his eyes, casting away all the terror and the dread that her mother had poured into her. “ _Asher, was it? Do you even know what you’re saying?_ ”

She pulled away from the cold, damp, wooden steps and like a moth was drawn, mesmerized, toward the warmth of the little leopard cub with the eyes of flame who had fed her and called her beautiful.

“Don’t be afraid.”

He held out his paw again, and she would have taken hold of it no matter what his next words were.

As it turned out, they were just the words that she needed.

“Come with me.”

*****

A ray of sunlight had landed across Melanie’s face and was now shining straight into her eyes as she blinked them open. She rolled away from the oppressively cheerful radiance and sat up with a groan. She surveyed her surroundings dismally. There were broken pieces of bamboo husk all around, and she was dismayed to see that she’d eaten through two of the bundles; the window was visible once again, which explained the copious amount of light in the living room. The rest of the week was going to be very difficult in terms of meals now.

Melanie hung her head only to find something soft at her chest, a pillow she’d clung to in the night so tightly that one of the seams had burst. She squeezed tighter and let it tear a little more, let it mirror the pain in her heart.

 _I still miss you, my friend._ _It still hurts. So much…_

_Tap, tap, tap._

Melanie froze, and swiveled her ears around to try and determine where the shy rapping noise had come from, hoping and praying that it didn’t come from the door. Nothing good could possibly be on the other side.

 _Tap, tap, tap._ “Dr. Leuca? It’s Judy Hopps again. Are you there?”

For a fraction of a second, Melanie considered remaining silent, pretending that she wasn’t there, hiding once more from a thing that had hurt her; but, his sweet face was still lingering just behind her eyes, how he’d been taken from her again, and too many sparks showered down on all the most incendiary parts of her mind for it not to ignite into an inferno.

The pillow was thrown to the floor and in two swift strides she was at the door with her muzzle already pulling back from her teeth and a growl in her throat. The door swung wide so hard and fast, if the chain had been latched she had no doubt that it would have been torn from the frame.

 _Whoa!_ Judy leapt back in startled surprise as the door abruptly opened inward. The panda on the other side of the threshold looked so similar and at the same time monumentally different from the one that had stood there yesterday. Same clothes, she noticed, same twitching ears, but such a tight, fearsome face, creases chiseled into her forehead and snout. It crossed her mind that reappearing back at this apartment so soon may not have been the best decision.

Melanie saw that she was not in uniform, but jeans and a blue button-down shirt. Even through the furious haze, she recognized that Officer Hopps hadn’t announced herself by her title, but only her name. Why no badge? Why no partner? Why no… no show of authority?

She throttled the curiosity that attempted to interrupt her anger. _Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t change anything._ “What do you want _now_?” Her paw gripped the door so tight that it made the cracking paint flake. “You do not do enough already, I must be harassed more?”

Judy’s ears laid back as she stepped forward stiffly. “I _tried_ to call first, but…” Her face tensed, strangled whatever the next words were going to be, and then turned away as she held up the plastic bag that had been half concealed behind her back. “Tests came up negative. I brought your things back.”

All the wrinkles melted from Melanie’s face, relief flooding over every bit of her, heart skipping with something akin to elation to see it again, to have it home, to have _him_ home. She went to snatch the bag from Judy eagerly, but it inched just out of reach.

Judy held up her other paw in a placating gesture as Melanie drew herself back and puffed her fur. “Could I talk to you? Please?”

“Will you not return my possession if I say ‘no’?” The question rumbled out from lips bent down in a scowl, at the same time a warning, an objection, and a challenge.

Her heart hammering, Judy weighed the bargaining chip she held. There was no hiding at this point how important the little box was to Dr. Leuca, and withholding it until she got what she wanted was certainly one way of obtaining the resolution that Judy was looking for.

But it wasn’t the right way.

Judy sighed. “No, of course not. It’s yours.” She held the bag up as high above her as she could. “Here.”

She ducked her head low between her shoulders as the cinderblock-sized paw swept by to grab the bag up and away. Dr. Leuca gave the contents a cursory look and, satisfied that they were being returned in the condition she was expecting, looked down her snout at Judy in surly disdain. With a glowering huff, she stepped back, ready to slam the door shut when…

“Don’t.”

If someone were to ask what made her stop, Melanie probably wouldn’t have been able to give a definitive reason. Maybe it was the miserable tone that sounded subtly of desperation, or the fact that it was coming from the mouth of a mammal that Melanie had only seen carrying herself with such confidence and command. It was a simple word, but sounded twisted into depths despairing, and nothing she thought to hear from Officer Judith Laverne Hopps. Whatever the reason, she stayed her paw and looked down at the rabbit again. Judy must have spoken straight at the floor, ears drooping and eyes staring somewhere between the threshold and the hinges.

She wore such a familiar face, but it was hard for Melanie to place where she had seen it before…

“You invade my home, accuse me of terrible thing,” Melanie reminded her. Curiosity was gaining a solid foothold, but the anger would not let her forget the pain of yesterday, so the words were still steeped in bitterness. “Give me good reason not to.”

Judy looked up and then away again, mumbling, “I don’t know if it’s good, but it’s true so…” Her voice trailed into a short pause, then her foot gave a testy few thumps against the rug. “You know, it took all week to work up the nerve to go to that session. The Ottertons insist you’re the best help there is for nighthowler-related… things. And I get why you said to me what you did, but I didn’t mean to upset Mr. Manchas and when I left I just felt so… so low. Lower than when I came, which I didn’t think was possible.” Earnest violet eyes tore themselves away from the carpet and somehow found the softening brown ones. “I got embarrassed and insulted and mad. I went looking for anything to justify some kind of action, and jumped headfirst into a wrong assumption. I acted immature and unprofessional, and I know I hurt you, and if you slam that door in my face I’d completely deserve it. That would be just… just fine.” Her gaze dropped back to studying the scraped-up molding where the carpet met the wall. “I wish you wouldn’t, though. I just want to talk. That was all I wanted.”

There it was; how did she miss it? Of course there was no uniform, no partner, no badge. This wasn’t the face of an officer. This was the face of a patient.

It had become crystal clear who was being the bigger mammal. Judy stood alone at a hostile door with an apology and a quiet request, even without having any guarantee that it would be honored… nor of receiving an apology in return.

 _FLASH! “You know, he was a big part of one of the worst nights of_ my _life, too. If you care.”_

Melanie’s shoulders slumped as she remembered the last thing Judy had said to her at the N.I.T.E. session and realized: she had blocked her path. Blocked it, outright, without providing any guidance. Without really listening. Without suggesting something (or someone) that might have been able to help, even if Melanie herself couldn’t. And then threatened her and told her to leave. She had regarded Judy solely as a danger to her patient, rather than a potential patient herself.

If she had lost sight of objectivity and acted out of anger, how could Melanie fault her for that? All the sharp words, the harsh looks of yesterday… all sour fruit grown from seeds that she had sown herself at the end of the last N.I.T.E. class. And now the two of them had the chance to decide their way forward. It seemed that Judy had already made her choice. Now, here she stood, allowing Melanie the opportunity to do the same.

 _Will you refuse the olive branch being offered out of spite?_ She studied the bunny waiting with eyes cast down at the shabby, worn-through carpet of the hall, fist clenched and tapping an uncertain beat against her thigh. _Or will you do as you told your patients and choose to forgive?_

The leftover embers still smoldering were snuffed right out; there was nothing now for them to keep feeding on. For the first time in so many days, Melanie felt able again to act on that yearning desire to be of help to another mammal that might need it.

Even without N.I.T.E., she was still a doctor, after all.

Melanie took a deep, calming breath in through her nose and let it out slowly. She rubbed the remaining tension out of her face with her paw as she nudged the door open further and stood aside. Judy looked up at her with the obvious question in her wide eyes.

“Hallway is no place to talk.” A half-smile tugged at the panda’s mouth as the long ears popped up hopefully, and she nodded toward the interior of the apartment. “Just come in. Before I change my mind.”

The bunny didn’t have to be told twice, and a gray blur zipped over the threshold and into the living room beyond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haven't got much more to say here... speaks for itself, I think. Onward now to the conversation I'm pretty sure you've all been waiting for. ;) 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading! Hit up the comments with any feedback.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judy sits down with Melanie over a cup of tea to discuss the mental malaise that has been wreaking such havoc on her friendship with Nick. When she turns the tables on the panda with a very simple question, it prompts a conversation that Melanie's been evading from Vincent since the day she first began working for N.I.T.E. Sometimes all you need is for someone to reach out when everything seems to be coming down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sad panda, an impromptu therapy session, a cup of tea, and a bunny cop who's all about making the world a better place? Yeah, that's a recipe for some hardcore character development right there.
> 
> Alright, you've all had questions about the skeletons rattling around in Melanie's closet... I hope you're ready, because the door's opening and dagnabbit, there's a veritable graveyard in there.
> 
> Good luck, my lovelies... see you on the other side.

Judy skidded to a dead halt at the edge of what looked like some kind of botanical massacre as Melanie pushed the door closed behind her.

“Sweet cheese and crackers, what in the…?”

“Please excuse the mess.” The pillow on the floor was tossed back onto the couch and Melanie swept her foot out in front of her to clear a little path in the dried-up bamboo husk pieces still littered all over the living room. “I will dispose of properly later.”

Judy followed in her wake, eyes drinking in the magnitude of the ‘mess.’ “Did you… did all this happen just yesterday?”

“Yes, well… stress response.” Satisfied with the hasty sprucing up, Melanie removed the box from the plastic bag and set it at her place on the small table by her cellphone. The bag and the silk flower she tossed with extreme prejudice in a little wastebasket by the wall before continuing on to the kitchen. “You will not mind if I eat first? I cannot think when hungry.”

Judy attempted a nonchalant smile, still adjusting to the state of the room around her. “I think that’s true for anyone. Take your time.”

“Thank you. Please make yourself comfortable.”

Melanie turned into the small kitchen area and set a kettle of water on the stove for tea. She opened the refrigerator, which was mostly empty at this point except for an enormous, overripe melon and the dozen eggs she had boiled over the weekend. Her mind started chipping away at the complicated equations required to determine how little she could get away with eating and still function at adequate capacity for her impromptu appointment. Melanie wouldn’t normally eat with an audience present considering the unusual arrangement of her meals, but it couldn’t be helped. She loaded a plate with the melon, half of the eggs, and an open-faced peanut-butter sandwich. By her calculations, that should be sufficient to alleviate the hunger and keep it at bay. That would have to be enough, allow her enough energy afterward to continue packing and rearrange her menu for the rest of the day, and then the week.

The kettle whistled its hot-headed cry, and Melanie moved it off the burner. She gave herself a once-over in the shining curved belly and hissed at the unkempt reflection looking back at her; hardly the face of a medical professional. A little splash of water allowed her to give some direction to the fur patches that had gone sticking out at odd angles. She threw the tea bag in to steep and grabbed two mismatched teacups from the cabinet before backing up out of the kitchen, the load of foodstuffs, kettle, and cups precariously perched in her arms.

She stopped two steps from the table and had to swallow a laugh when she caught sight of the gray bundle of nerves wedged in the corner of the couch, rabbit foot thudding a nervous pulse against the cushion. “This is comfortable?”

Judy frowned and her foot stopped its agitated vibrations. “Isn’t this how it’s supposed to go? Me couch, you chair or… something?”

“If that will make you feel most relaxed. Clearly, not the case.” Melanie set the plate just beside the little box at her place and beckoned to Judy with her now free paw. “Come, sit here with me.” The teacups were set at either end of the table, one in front of her and the other directly across. She filled her cup, and hovered the kettle over the other as Judy climbed down from the couch. “Tea?”

“Ah, you really don’t want to see me on caffeine,” Judy said in joking warning as she navigated through the field of broken green bits to the table.

Melanie smiled as she tipped the kettle to pour the hot liquid—the thought of a caffeinated rabbit was a funny one. “Herbal tea. No caffeine. Try if you want. If not, I will have instead.”

Judy hopped up into the empty chair and knelt, rather than sat, in it. The edge of the table still came up to her chest, but at least in this position she could see the panda on the other side. Melanie took her seat also and started in on the eggs and open-faced sandwich first as Judy took the teacup between her paws politely. “What’s all this?”

“Breakfast,” was the half-garbled response from a mouth filled with peanut butter.

“What about…?” Judy jerked her thumb at the two bundles that were still left leaning against the wall beside them. “I thought you all just eat bamboo, no?”

“Usually.” Melanie reached over to the closest bundle to snap one of the stalks from around the cord, and pulled it toward her. She stripped the leaves with her paw, and set them in a little pile on the plate to eat a few at a time. “If I could eat bamboo only and still do my work, I would prefer. It is most delicious thing. But this not possible. Too few calories in bamboo, edible parts too hard to get to.” The broken end of the stalk went between her teeth with a sharp _crack_ and the tough outer husk was stripped. The shell hit the floor with all the other fractured scraps, and she indicated the thin inner part that she could eat as she chewed it off and swallowed. “I could not work if I eat nothing else.”

“Why bother with it at all, then? I mean, I get that it’s tasty, but considering how expensive it is, it seems more trouble than it’s worth if you can have… other things.” She indicated the remaining eggs and melon still sitting on the plate.

Melanie picked up one of the leaves from the pile and regarded it for a moment before tossing it into her mouth. “Would be cultural taboo, to shun the life-giver. First teaching cubs learn: of all mammals, bamboo allows only pandas to eat its leaves, its shoots, its stems. All others it would poison and kill. If we are the chosen, to not respect that relationship is considered the gravest insult. I have as much as I can, but my path led me away from the forest long ago. Now can only offend as little as possible.” She popped the last egg into her mouth and swallowed with a twisted sort of smile. “I am abomination panda. Not something I advertise.”

“Oh,” was the only way Judy could think to respond. It hadn’t seemed like such a personal question to ask, but she suddenly felt as though she had intruded upon a sore subject the way that Melanie spoke about the plants that her species typically consumed. She decided not to press the discussion further, now that they were starting to get a bit more comfortable with each other.

Melanie took a sip from her teacup and Judy did the same. “I do not think you come here to discuss my choice of food.”

The bunny gulped the mouthful of mild tea down with a hurried and nervous-sounding laugh. “Heh, no, sure didn’t. I just… well, I did want to give you your things back, of course. And to say sorry, you know… about that.” Judy pointed to the half-crumpled search warrant that was serving as a trivet for the kettle on the table. “I should have noticed you couldn’t read it properly, but… I really wasn’t paying attention.”

Melanie paused mid-bite into a piece of melon and bristled defensively. “I am _dyslexic_ , not _illiterate_.”

“I get that,” Judy said evenly. “I’m just saying it probably would have saved us all a lot of hard feelings if I’d just taken a second to make sure you understood why we were here.”

“I suppose.” The rest of the fruit was returned uneaten to the plate and Melanie pushed it aside. All at once she’d lost her appetite as her thoughts turned to the previous morning in her apartment and all the things she said—and didn’t say—to the bunny sitting across from her. “Did you actually think I had nighthowlers?”

“It… didn’t seem likely, to be honest.” Judy stared down into her cup as she murmured her diffident reply. Her paws tightened around it, nails scratching at the porcelain. “But I’ve been tricked before.”

“I see.” The panda’s ears folded flat back against her skull. “And I trick you, also.” She clenched her teeth and clasped her paws on the table. When Judy looked up, Melanie turned away. “I used you, without your knowledge or consent.”

“You made the right call,” Judy said, and waved her paw in front of her in casual dismissal. “No one got hurt. It turned out okay in the end.”

“Not for you.” Judy held her breath as the shining brown eyes welling with sincerity and regret locked onto hers. “I chose path that worked, but I chose because was also best for me. I was afraid to say truth because terrible outcome, but also I might lose my patients’ trust. Treated you poorly when you help me, help them. You help us, I did not help you.” Melanie pulled her clasped paws into her chest and bowed forward until her nose touched the tabletop. “Just to say sorry is not enough, but I do not know more words for adequate apology.”

“Oh, hey, come on… don’t do that.” Judy reached her paw out along the top of the table to the edge of Melanie’s gaze, and cocked her head to the side with a warm smile as the panda lifted herself back up. “How about we just call it even and agree to start over? I think I’d like that.”

Melanie returned her smile. “I would, also.”

Judy put out an enthusiastic paw. “Hi. Judy Hopps, police officer and overemotional mess right now. Nice to meet you.”

The tiny gray paw was enveloped in the huge black one all the way up to the wrist with a gentle shake. “I am Dr. Melanie Leuca and I will be your therapist today. It is very good to meet you, too.” They broke the shake and Melanie asked, “May I call you Judy, or do you rather different name?”

“That’s fine by me, though I answer to most anything these days.” She tilted her head to the side. “And you?”

“We sit and talk over tea. You may call me Melanie, if you prefer.” Melanie took her plate and set it on the floor; the leftover crumbs she swept off the side of the table. Breakfast was officially over. She folded her paws in front of her. “Are you ready to begin?”

Rabbit hearts did tend to run fast, but Judy’s had picked up enough speed that it was impossible to discern where one heartbeat ended and the next began. Her nose twitched in sync with the accelerating rhythm. “I guess?”

“Maybe still you are uncomfortable.”

Judy smiled wryly. “What gave me away?”

“Often hardest part of therapy is deciding that it is right path. You already do this. Twice. You come to me now for reason, yes? You come to class for reason, yet when I ask for reason you do not say.”

Judy turned to look out the window at the bright, beautiful morning she was forgoing. “I’ve never done this before, so the thought I might need it was… daunting, to say the least. I thought a group session would be good because it’s open for anyone. Public audience, didn’t need a particular reason to be there. Then I… after what happened with Mr. Manchas and that boar I kinda backpedaled when you asked. I thought I could get declared unfit for service, lose my gun and my badge…” Judy turned back and shrugged. “Got scared. Still am a little, despite the tea. Does that make any sense?”

“Yes, it does,” Melanie assured her. “We address this first. I understand your concern. Certainly a valid concern. But not one you need to have. This is not formal healthcare setting, but I treat as same I would any other patient. Our discussion is private and will remain such.” She smiled as Judy’s ears popped up. “And I personally observe you in very extreme situation. Could have had deadly outcome. You do not ever disregard the power of your gun; you do not use it recklessly. No mammal is more fit to be police officer, to be entrusted with firearm, than you. This is professional assessment.”

Judy stared unblinking and her ears sank back down again modestly. “Thanks. That… that helps. A lot.”

“Why perhaps you do not confide in your friend, I wonder?” Judy gave her an inquiring look. “He calls you friend to me, and defends you. To be partner, I presume there is trust between you. Good mammal, clearly, your fox. Why not talk to him, if you were afraid talk to therapist like me?” The rabbit dropped her gaze again back into her teacup, and Dr. Leuca watched as she gripped it all the tighter. “I see. Then probably has to do with him.”

“Has to do with all of them, really,” Judy admitted, nose twitching vehemently as her thoughts shifted to all the past events that had led her to be in this very room at this very moment. Her mouth opened and closed, but no sentences formed to elaborate further. She slammed her head on the table in overdramatic frustration. “God, why is this so hard?”

It wasn’t a completely unique situation for mammals to clam up when trying to confront the reason that they sought therapy, so Melanie wasn’t surprised by Judy’s hesitation.

“Let’s try different way. Maybe instead we start with how you begin to think you need more professional help. When you start feeling this way?”

As anticipated, Judy seemed much more open to this course of discussion, the ‘when’ that prompted the ‘why.’

“Last Sunday. Somehow the stars aligned and Nick and I had the same day off work, and with the whole city gearing up to talk about the Nighthowler Crisis all week we thought we’d try and do something together and… I dunno, celebrate? Like, it was what had brought us together, made us such good friends, so it seemed the thing to do. We had a nice lunch, shared a Jumbo pop, got a dozen brain freezes, laughed about it… isn’t that something to celebrate? The day you met your best friend?”

“Of course, yes,” was the automatic answer, the right answer, although Melanie felt herself withering inside at the very thought. If she knew either of those dates—the day she met him or the day she lost him—they would simultaneously become the worst days of the year for her. The sharp double-edge of anniversaries: some are wonderful, others horrible. “I can understand if maybe you feel different afterward to celebrate something other mammals lament so much.”

Judy hunched her shoulders. “I hadn’t thought about it. Until this past week, it was mostly just… a case that was closed. We did it, we caught the baddie, she went to jail, everyone got cured, I got the best partner I could ever ask for. Everything was supposed to be better. All’s well that ends well, right?”

Melanie waited and didn’t say anything in response. It seemed that Judy was coming closer to opening up, so the best course of action was silence. The natural desire was always to fill a silence with more words, and after about a minute more words finally did come.

“Chief Bogo preemptively put out an official statement to the press for last week,” Judy continued quietly. “It was a nice flowery review of how hate crimes had decreased since Bellwether’s indictment and told them all there would be no other comments than that from the ZPD. He never said it point blank, but I think he knew they were all chomping at the bit to get in my face.”

“Why they want to talk to you, specifically?” Melanie asked.

Judy grimaced. “Do you know what I did?”

Of course she did. It was still all over the internet, and was a common thread stitched through the sessions of so many of her patients. But to get it from the source was a narrative that was too valuable, too pertinent to the current conversation, not to hear firsthand. “Pretend I do not.”

So Melanie listened to the side that only Judy could tell, the side of the rookie cop who was set in front of the press and unintentionally stoked the flames of controversy that ran through Zootopia like it was dry kindling. How she lost her friend, and eventually left the city in shame. Judy remained composed for much of it, up until she recounted the things that Nick said before turning tail and walking away from her, out of her life, for what she thought would be forever.

“I think back on it now and I get so frustrated I didn’t see what was happening right then. I had all the pieces to solve it, and I was looking at a completely different puzzle.” Judy brought her fist down on the table, though it was so tiny it didn’t make a sound. “Was I _okay_ , Bellwether? Did I go ahead and upend the city just how you hoped I would with all my careless words?” She took a deep breath to steady herself. “But anyway… I’m a mammal of interest since that press conference is considered ground zero for all the turmoil that followed. I ran errands right after our nice afternoon out and got accosted by a reporter when I left the supermarket. The questions she asked…” She reached up to rub her eye with her paw and seemed surprised that it came away wet. She clenched her fist and set it back on the table. “It felt like something in me… snapped. I ran home in a blind panic, and when I caught my breath it was all I could think about.” She lowered her voice. “ _They_ were all I could think about.”

After a brief pause, Melanie asked, “Did you tell anyone about what happened?”

“No, I didn’t,” Judy admitted. “With Chief’s moratorium on interviews for the ZPD, I didn’t want to be the reason someone lost their job, too. Besides that, it seemed… silly. I mean, I wasn’t hurt at all…”

“Yes, you were,” Melanie said firmly. “Just because you cannot see your hurt does not mean it does not exist. Do not think it is little thing. Hurt is relative; same thing that would barely scratch one will completely destroy another. Your feelings are valid. Not silly.”

“Well… at the time, it seemed silly,” Judy said again, and frowned deeply. “I spent that night just curled up in bed with my phone browsing every corner of the internet, reading all the mammal interest stories, all about the N.I.T.E. program. I mean, I knew about it from the Ottertons, but I didn’t really _know_ about it, how many mammals were still using those services, that _needed_ to. And the more I read, the more responsible I felt for what happened to all of them.” She set the now empty teacup aside and clasped her paws together. “I never asked Nick what it was like for him, you know. Not that I didn’t care, it just… it just wasn’t something that ever came up. Was he scared? Mistreated? Attacked? I… what happened to him, to all of them… it’s my fault.”

Melanie’s face softened. “Judy…”

Hard to imagine that those long ears didn’t hear her, but at the very least they seemed set on ignoring the gentle appeal. Judy went on, and her words picked up speed and urgency. “I should have tried harder. Instead, I set the city on fire, and then I just… I left them here! Ran back to the farm with my cute fuzzy wuzzy tail between my legs and I left them here.” She put her face down in her folded arms on the table. “I left him here.”

“You came back. Do not forget you found the ones responsible.”

“Too late.” She murmured the words into her arms in heartbreaking misery. “Did you see all of them? Did you see how many? And that’s only a fraction of the mammals that were impacted. I left them all, let them all just… _marinate_ in all that poison and hate and panic.” Her body trembled and her voice pitched higher, betraying the hidden tears now leaking onto her sleeves. “You know what the endgame was, right? Predator-free Zootopia? She was going to poison them all, and let them just… die. Once all the doctors decided that they were permanently deranged there was no reason to keep helping them, right? No reason to keep spending all that money and mammal-power on lost causes, right? Just keep them locked up until they burned their brains out. Scientists think that their lifespans might be decreased now from all the stress that was put on them for so long. That’s on me. Yeah, I came back, but it was already too late for them.”

“…Not too late for next target, though.”

Judy lifted her head the tiniest bit, looked over her arms to see a small, warm smile. “Was not too late for his wife and cubs. Not too late for every other predator would have been shot. Not too late for every other mammal might have been attacked and hurt. Not too late for your friend. Not too late.” Melanie put her paw out on the table in invitation, an offer of physical comfort if she wanted it, and continued as Judy stared at it with uncertainty. “They are not dead, and that is only because of you. Yes, there is still hurt for many, but they would not be here at all, would not be back with their families, if not for you.” The gray rabbit nuzzled her cheek very lightly against the big black paw as the tears streamed down her face in shining rivulets. “You cannot control what is already past, but you can let it guide you to be a better you. And this, I can tell, is something that you have already done. Do you not feel this way?”

“I did… now, not so much.”

“Someone says awful things to you, you change how you see yourself. But you are not suddenly less now than you were when you decided better path long ago.”

Judy picked her head off of Melanie’s paw and straightened herself up, wiping away the tears from her face. Was anything really different since the reporter shoved that microphone in her face besides her perception? Amazing how a few acidic sentences could completely erode her self-worth, her confidence in how much she had changed, how she was still waking up each day looking to make the world a better place.

“Let me ask you,” Melanie went on. “You come quietly to class, the very last mammal—that was you, yes? Comes in while I am speaking?”

“Yeah, that was me.”

“You come, you hide from others when it is safe. You show yourself only when there is conflict, when there is danger. This is opposite what most mammals would do. You were not afraid to help me, so tell me this: why were you hiding at all?”

“I didn’t want to call attention to myself there. It felt like walking in front of a firing range, hoping not to get shot… all those mammals I hurt. I just thought I’d keep a low profile and listen, maybe… maybe try to talk to one of them, to have him hear me out…”

“And you chose Renato.”

“I thought about him the most, I think. What happened to Mr. Manchas… I may as well have shot him myself,” Judy said bitterly. “I led that ram to his house, let him get hurt and then left him to wallow in it for all that time. I didn’t mean to scare him, I just wanted to talk to him. I thought if I could just talk to one of them, earn some kind of forgiveness from one of them, convince one of them I’m not that same dumb bunny anymore, then that might make it… better.” Judy scrubbed her paws over her eyes. “Boy, did that plan blow up in my face.”

“And it would,” Melanie said, spreading her arms wide on the tabletop. “You seek forgiveness from every mammal except the one that you should be asking it from.”

Judy gave her a doubtful look. “And who would that be?”

Melanie picked up the kettle and set it squarely in front of Judy’s face. The slightly distorted, tearstained bunny stared back at her with still glistening, rueful violet eyes.

“It is a thing that is often forgotten, how important it is to forgive yourself. Do you not think such a good mammal deserves that consideration?”

She looked at her warped reflection for just a few seconds, and all at once the heaviness that had settled into her heart started to lighten at the ridiculous idea of talking to a teapot. Her wilting ears lifted, and for the first time in more than a week she at last felt more like herself. Like she was allowed to smile again. To laugh. So she did.

“I’m not talking to your kettle,” Judy said through the hearty chuckle that ensued.

Melanie beamed at the solid progress, certain that there would be a resolution for the rabbit officer coming sooner rather than later. Her heart swelled; she loved this part of her work. “No, I would not expect you to. It is a very personal thing, that… an inner decision. To do properly, would be best to be alone. I trust you will consider it, though, yes?”

“I will, but… honestly? For how dark everything felt this seems too simple, you know?”

“Simplest solution is many times best one, though still not always easy.” Melanie settled back against her chair. “Compared with how you felt coming here, how you are feeling now?”

“A bit raw,” she admitted. “But like I can finally see a little light. A way out.”

“Good… I am glad to hear,” the panda said brightly. “Usually I end sessions with goals. It helps to say them out loud, to solidify path forward. Do you have any you can think of?”

“Besides not talking to a kettle?”

“Yes, besides that.”

Judy considered, and sighed. “I was such a jerk to Nick this whole week. Every time he tried to help me I shut him down. I was just afraid. I wanted to ask him about those months we didn’t see each other at all, and it felt like if I asked him about it he’d be reminded what a dumb bunny I was.” She combed her ears back and held them against her neck a moment before letting them spring back up once more. “He knows everyone, to some degree or another. If I hurt mammals he cares about… well, I was afraid if I brought it up he’d, I don’t know, stop wanting to be friends with me.” She lifted her lip and stuck her tongue out. “Wow. Now that I say it out loud…”

“I only meet very briefly, but somehow I cannot imagine Nicholas Wilde is type of mammal to throw away good friend for wanting to know him better. Am I wrong?”

Judy saw him behind her eyes then, a soft and genuine smile as he asked, _Well, Carrots? Is she?_ “Are you wrong?” She felt he’d want her to answer in their way. “No… no, you’re not.”

“I did not think so. Now make into form of goal.”

“My goal: to have that conversation with Nick. And to apologize for shutting him out.”

“That is good. Specific.” Melanie picked up the kettle again to pour herself more tea. “I urge to act on goals as soon as you are ready. You can take your time, but do not wait too long if there is strain on your friendship.”

“Right, I’m with you on that.” Judy smiled. “Thanks for the talk. And the tea.”

“Of course, of course. This is why I am here.” The panda held up the kettle in invitation. “Another cup, maybe? Before you leave?”

Judy checked the time on her phone and was surprised to see how much she still had left until her shift began. She was pleased, though, that she might be able to take a few more minutes to come down from what was an admittedly exhausting experience. Gratifying, yes, but exhausting. “I’d love one.”

They sat for a little time in comfortable quiet, enjoying hot tea and a welcome sense of tranquility. But it did not escape Judy’s attention that the longer they sat at the table not doing anything in particular, the more antsy Melanie started to become. She was the first to finish her cup, but instead of having another began to cast her eyes around at the room, especially at the luggage that was still set out. A long, hard look at the bundles of bamboo still remaining against the wall. Many more glances at the little wooden box than Judy thought would be considered typical. Sad ones.

After the second sigh escaped the panda’s muzzle, Judy said, “Can I ask you something, Dr. Leuca?”

“Yes, of course,” was the immediate, seemingly nonchalant response, a conservative and, Judy thought, forced smile playing over her face.

“You weren’t here last year when the crisis happened, right? Why do you care so much?”

“I am doctor with the training to help, so I help best I can. As I say, is why I am here.” Another glance aside at the box.

Judy twitched an ear, her lips pressed into a pencil thin line. “Seems more personal than that.” She paused. “Can I ask you something else?”

“Certainly.”

“Are you all right?”

_FLASH! “Are you all right? You were screaming…”_

Melanie stiffened, the next inhale stuck sharp as a blade at her throat. The unexpected question came so quick—quicker than the mammal who had asked it—and while it moved with the same intensity that Vincent’s inquiry about her mother had, it did not have the same piercing, penetrating sensation that it was going to skewer her. There was no jagged edge, no razor lining tearing into all the soft, vulnerable parts she’d spent years guarding. It was warm and bright, like the sun trying to shine through a storm.

But this was a twenty-year-old tempest.

“Why you would ask me that?” The reply was feeble, a knee-jerk reaction to something that still posed a threat to all the carefully constructed mental mechanisms that, up until now, had been holding her together.

“You don’t really look all right.” Judy gestured with her paw generally to all of her. “You have the same clothes on from yesterday.” Gestured generally to the two empty tubs of water still lined against the wall. “Stress ate half your food?” Gestured specifically to her head. “There are tear tracks all over your face.” Gestured to the dead silent iPaw on the table. “ _You shut your phone off_. What doctor shuts off her phone?”

The insightful observations earned only a few blinks in response. Judy climbed up on the table and sat cross-legged to be more at eye level with Melanie. “Look, I know I don’t have a medical degree. And I can’t say if I’d be much good at giving advice either, but I do have these.” She pulled her ears down and let them rise back up again. “And they’re better at listening than you gave them credit for. You helped me. Can I help you at all?”

“I…” Melanie stopped, frowned, and gave a hard shake of her head. “No. Would be inappropriate. I would not see your progress undone with matters that do not concern you.”

“Technically, I’m not your patient,” Judy pointed out. “And I would be a poor excuse for a police officer if I didn’t offer assistance to someone who clearly needs it.” The same type of stubborn silence from the day before reared back up, and she pointed at Melanie. “You actually let me vent to you, and you’re falling apart. If you were me and I was you, _Dr. Leuca_ , would you let that stand? Wouldn’t you help you?”

The face Melanie wore belonged at a poker table, but Judy had played poker with the best card player in Zootopia… and trounced his furry red tail. She sat, paws wide and inviting, eyes locked soft and engaging on the panda’s, and she waited in the silence.

Silence that begged to be filled.

She couldn’t dispute what Judy had said, and the wail that rose up in her ears undeniably confirmed it. Melanie had been coming undone for days. Weeks. _Months_. She’d become the throw pillow, seams bursting, and now it was easy to see the soft insides, all her insecurities, her reservations, her fears. Vincent had come at them grasping, roughly; she had held them even closer. But Judy… she offered, and waited. Melanie didn’t feel like she was being pushed so much as being welcomed. The bunny had become an open door, a way out of a place that was burning to the ground. Vincent was always more like the edge of a cliff, one step away from plummeting into oblivion. (Was that fair? Why did she think of him that way?)

Every other way forward was strewn with the same pitfalls and snares she’d set for herself since she was a cub; unhealthy, self-destructive, ruinous methods of coping that had kept her from addressing her heartache. The only way out now was a path cutting straight through everything she’d been running from for the past twenty years.

Melanie heaved a deep sigh, and tilted back her head as she talked up at the ceiling. “It is… difficult. To admit that also I have deep hurt, deep fear, when I am supposed to be guide to so many. Especially here, in this place.” She snorted in frustration. “Nearly illiterate foreigner, runaway child from a broken home… how could I tell such things about me? Who would trust such a mammal with care for their health?”

“…I kinda just did.” She looked back at Judy, who had moved just a little closer, sat just a little straighter. The rabbit pointed at the box. “Anything to do with that?”

“In many ways, yes,” Melanie confessed, and took it between her paws with a careful caress. She sighed again. “I do not speak of this ever, Judy. And it is very long story.”

“I’m a rabbit.” Judy put her chin in her paws, elbows propped against her knees, sitting at rapt attention. “Let me tell you something: we’re _all about_ long stories.”

Melanie let out a short laugh that was more a huff of breath than anything. She gulped, licked her tongue over her nose tensely… and took the first uncertain step. “Do you know much about my kind?”

“I’m pretty sure I know more about your food than your species,” Judy admitted.

“Then when I say I am born second cub of a second cub, probably that would not mean anything to you.”

“Not really… rabbit litters average around a dozen, so who popped out first isn’t really important enough to keep track of.” She leaned forward and clasped her paws in her lap. “Is that important for pandas?”

Melanie nodded. “Usually only one cub born to panda mother. This is preferred always. Twins are not infrequent, but not preferred. Very old saying goes ‘One cub born is blessing. Two cubs born is burden.’ It was still common until a century ago to keep only the first cub, the strong cub.”

Judy was afraid to ask, but the ominous implication begged the question. “…and the second cub?”

“Second cub, weak cub, unwanted cub, was abandoned to the forest. Left to die.”

“Oh my _God_.” She tried—she really did—to be calm, composed. But how could she not react to _that?_  Judy reeled back, appalled. “That’s… that’s…”

“Savage?” Melanie said with sardonic disdain, and wrinkled her muzzle. “Yes, that would be best word to use, I think. Does not happen as much anymore because laws written to prevent. Still, second cub is considered burden, an unworthy life. All have same name, so all know who they are. I change when I am older, but Méiyǒu is name I have at birth, same as my mother. Pandarin word meaning ‘nothing.’ I am reminded often the life I have I should be grateful for… no matter if happy or not.”

More steps, more momentum as more sentences tumbled out, and Melanie started to move along faster and faster until she wasn’t sure she could stop if she wanted to.

“I cannot imagine my mother became pregnant by choice. I do not know who is father to my sister and me. She keeps us both only from fear of jail, of being taken away from the forest. She cares only for my sibling. It is miracle I survive infancy, but I do not grow healthy. I am small, sickly thing, and always hungry.” She cast a glance at the offending search warrant. “When we start to go to school, I am rejected and sent home. I do not understand, cannot learn like my sister, like classmates. I know now my trouble has a name, but at the time I am considered an idiot. I am not allowed back at class, so I am stuck home with my mother who detests my very existence. Who hates to share the forest she loves with one so lowly, so stupid, as me.

“Before I am strong enough to crack the bamboo stalk myself, I must rely on her. It is scraps mostly, leftover when she has her fill. I am surrounded by endless forest of food I cannot eat, and it is all I think about. I am so hungry I would eat anything else I could find. Roots, bark, weeds…” She grimaced as she recalled a very particular meal. “…A bird, once.”

“A _bird_?” Judy felt her stomach turn in revulsion, and was surprised that she didn’t retch at the image that had suddenly wormed its way into the space behind her eyes, of blood and feathers between the panda’s white teeth.

“It was already dead, if that makes better,” Melanie said peevishly. “You are not picky when you are starving. It did not satisfy enough to warrant beating I receive when I return home with bloody face. How dare I bypass my mother’s authority as voice of the forest that alone should sustain me? Got thrown out of the house, told to spend the night outside repenting for my insult. I was so scared. I was sure I would die.”

“But you didn’t,” Judy said, leaning further forward again. “What happened?”

“The forest sent someone to help me.” Melanie twisted her mouth up into something only slightly resembling a smile. “Well… this how I interpret at the time. Actually, a leopard cub hears my screaming when he left school, came down from the mountain. He finds me hiding beneath stairs of my house. I do not speak his language. We do not understand each other. I snap my teeth to make him go away. He is predator, spotted monster; I know we are supposed to be enemies. But he does not leave me. He gives me his food and beckons me to come with him. And he is so gentle and kind I cannot say no.”

She lowered her voice, and her paws shook around the wooden box they were holding. “I make many mistakes in my life, Judy. Many, many mistakes. But that… I think that was the worst I ever made.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, that was kinda... dark. But they do say it is darkest before the dawn. How long until the sun comes up? At least one more chapter... maybe two.
> 
> Thoughts, comments, queries, conundrums? You all know what to do! Thanks so much for reading!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melanie recounts both happy and painful memories of her childhood friend with Judy, what his friendship meant to her and how it saved her from a fate worse than death... but at the greatest cost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Today is my birthday, and birthdays are the perfect time for gifts! A gift from me to you, my lovely readers. Go on, open it!
> 
> Oh, wait! Almost forgot... here there be very specific dragons:  
> ~yeah, more past child abuse  
> ~graphic depictions of violence
> 
> Buckle up, fair readers. Backstory conclusion in three... two... one...

The leopard cub named Asher led the panda cub he called Mei through the bamboo forest straight to the foot of the mountain, and then up its side. The path was steep and treacherous, though not for the snow leopards that used it so frequently. He moved with sure, certain steps up each ledge, and waited patiently for her to join him. When she began to struggle further up where the niches became narrow and unevenly spaced, he leapt forward first to show the way, and then back behind her to ensure she wouldn’t fall. He was encouraging and enthusiastic at all of her progress. His voice was so heartening that every word, though they held no meaning yet, had her brimming over with newfound confidence, even as she became exhausted and breathless from the increasingly thin air.

All at once the climb was over and they came upon flat ground, rocky and white with a dusting of powdery snow. The panda cub shivered as the wind bit through her fur to prick at the skin beneath. Asher didn’t hesitate, but took her paw again and led her a short way forward to what at first looked like a pile of boulders. As they drew nearer it took shape, not a random pile but a small building constructed almost entirely from stone.

“Mr. Rimes!” Asher pushed the door open with a wide smile and dropped her paw as he ran inside. She entered behind him more tentatively, taking in the cozy interior of what appeared to be a small schoolhouse. Ten desks were lined up in two neat little rows with a blackboard at the front. There were short bookcases lining the walls filled with well-loved secondhand books, and a large desk in the far corner that Asher was now standing in front of. He was looking admiringly up at an elderly snow leopard, talking now a mile a minute.

Mr. Rimes was a grizzled male, with crimped whiskers and ash-gray eyes that looked at Asher with fondness but turned on her with judging and disdain. Her mind screamed that there was danger here where ancient enemies stood conspiring, but it felt like her feet had fused to the hard granite floor.

“…and you know a bunch of languages, right? So, do you know which one she’s speaking? It’s not Common Coppice.”

“No, it wouldn’t be,” the teacher said with a withering glare at the cub standing just at the entrance to the classroom. “Giant pandas only know Pandarin.”

“ _That’s_ a panda?” Asher looked back at her in disbelief. “But she’s not very big at all. And not a beast, either, just… just a girl. A cub. Like me.”

“You’re nothing like her,” Mr. Rimes said sharply, and his pupil shrank beneath the rebuke. “They’re nothing like us.” He came around his desk, moving with the same kind of lissome grace as Asher had, even in spite of his advanced age. His words, though, were decidedly blunter. “Stupid species. Barely evolved… spend half their lives worshipping the forest, the other half consuming it.”

“But I thought the bamboo was poisonous.”

“It is. Not for them.”

Asher hesitated, now worried that the food that he gave her would make her sick. “She ate my fish. Will it—?”

“Impossible,” Mr. Rimes interrupted. “I don’t like fibbing, Asher. You know better.”

Asher frowned, but held his tongue. This already wasn’t going the way he had hoped, and he was starting to see his esteemed teacher in a new light that he neither expected nor appreciated. He followed meekly behind Mr. Rimes as they approached the panda cub.

“ _I will indulge my student’s misguided curiosity,_ ” he said to her in overemphasized, very formal Pandarin, “ _but know this: your sort is not welcome here_. _You will leave and never return once he is satisfied. Are we clear?_ ”

She clenched her paws and gave a single shaky nod, trembling beneath his harsh looks and harsher statements.

“ _Good. What is your name, then?_ ”

“ _M-m-m-m…_ ” she stuttered, her tongue tripping over itself as her mind misfired again and again at the answer to the simple inquiry.

“You’re scaring her,” Asher said, tugging at his teacher’s pant leg imperatively as she continued to sputter.

“Can’t even say what her own name is,” Mr. Rimes said, tipping his chin up and staring down his nose at her.

“She already told me that. It’s—”

“ _Méiyǒu!_ ”

“—Mei.”

Mr. Rimes looked back and forth between his pupil and the miserable little stray that had finally blurted out what she was called, then barked a short laugh. “Well, it’s no wonder she’s following you like a lost kitten.”

Asher pinned his ears back. “What do you mean?”

“Her name is Méiyǒu, meaning ‘nothing.’ Probably a second cub, a runt. You shortened it to Mei, ‘beautiful,’ and she’s either too stupid or too needy to correct you.”

The leopard cub looked at her with pity. “Well, I would prefer my wrong name, too,” he said thickly. “How old is she?

Mr. Rimes relayed the question with a gruff voice. “ _What is your age, girl?_ ”

She blinked. “ _My… age?_ ”

“ _How old are you?_ ”

“ _I… I don’t…_ ” She wrung her paws together. “ _Seven?_ ”

“ _You are older than that._ ” Mr. Rimes bent down and bared his fangs in her face without warning. She responded in kind and he took note of the one canine that was only halfway descended, the still erupting permanent molars. He straightened back up while she caught her breath from the fright. “She’s around your age, not that she knows herself. Nine, maybe ten, judging by the teeth.”

Asher was approaching the end of his patience with the unkind treatment he was witnessing. “I want to be able to talk to her. Can you teach her Common?”

Mr. Rimes snorted. “I doubt it. Her species doesn’t have the mental capacity to learn our language. Even if they did, she seems a particularly dense specimen. It would be a waste of my time.”

His pupil looked up at him with a face suddenly bereft of any veneration it had previously held. “‘Every mammal begins life with an empty bowl where the mind should be. It is my duty as your teacher to fill that bowl with great knowledge.’ You tell us this the first day, before you know anything about us. That’s not a waste of your time too, is it?”

Mr. Rimes raised his eyebrows in surprise. He looked again back at the panda cub, considered, and then sighed with a shake of his head. “I can’t fill a bowl that has holes in it, Asher.”

“Can’t you at least _try_?”

With an impatient grumble, Mr. Rimes stalked back to his desk and personal bookshelf behind it and started rummaging around through the stacks of books haphazardly piled here and there. He came back holding a small primer in his paws, a text for teaching Pandarin. After flipping through a few pages, he held it open in front of the little girl’s face.

“ _Read aloud until you reach a word you do not know._ ”

It didn’t take long. There were only two that she knew immediately, but with the very small amount of schooling that she’d received and the shifting, swimming movement of the words on the page, it was inevitable she would fall far short of an acceptable performance. She went silent after bumbling through a half dozen poor guesses, and her eyes welled with tears of humiliation, certain that she’d failed some kind of test that she didn’t realize she would be asked to take, that she never had a chance at passing. Mr. Rimes evaluated the state of her ability with a scornful chuff.

“She can barely read her own language, you want to teach her another one?” He snapped the book shut and tossed it on top of the closest bookshelf beside them. “It can’t be done.”

“Then I’ll learn Pandarin,” Asher said.

“No.”

“Why not?” he demanded furiously.

“Because now I see that this is more than a curiosity you’re trying to satisfy. You think you can be friends with this… _cub_.” It was obvious that he wanted to call her something else, but decided against it. “But it’s just not respectable for an upstanding boy like yourself to be associating with riffraff from the forest. You’re too young to understand right now, but that’s just the way it is.”

“Well, then the way it is is _wrong_ ,” the leopard cub said boldly, and set himself beside her. “She needs help. She was screaming. I think her mother hurt her.”

“All the more reason not to get involved,” Mr. Rimes said without a moment’s hesitation.

“Someone should do something,” Asher insisted, appalled at the lack of compassion from his teacher. “She’s just a kid.”

Mr. Rimes sighed again. “You’re very kind, and I’m sure you feel bad for her, but it has nothing to do with you. Just keep your nose out of it before it gets bitten off.”  He gave Asher’s head a patronizing pat, which his student was quick to jerk away from. Mr. Rimes, unconcerned with the unfriendly gesture, turned to walk back to his desk, making it clear that this would be the end of the discussion. “Take her back where you found her and come straight here once you’re done. I’ll walk you home myself.”

Asher had never been defiant before, but then he’d never had a reason to be. He never had a reason to do anything other than what he was instructed, to obey the rules set forth by his elders. He was a good, bright boy, and had only ever striven to make his parents and teacher proud. But right then he was quite decided that if he had to pick one battle to fight, one injustice to protest and dissent against, then this was it.

Without a second thought, he reached over and grabbed the Pandarin primer from the shelf it had been tossed on. It was tucked away silently beneath his vest.

“Yes, sir,” he said in a voice of spiked honey, and took the girl’s paw again in his own as he led her out the door. Away from that place of disappointment, of hoarded knowledge and the arrogant teacher who saw fit to distribute it only to those he deemed worthy.

The panda cub had no understanding of the final exchange that had taken place between student and teacher, but from the pinned ears and wrinkled muzzle she could infer it hadn’t been a pleasant one. Asher was silent at first, but began muttering quietly infuriated sentences as they descended further down along the rocky path back to the too green forest below.

“Unbelievable,” he seethed when they’d reached the bottom and were again amongst the bamboo stalks. “He’s supposed to look out for kids. Who cares what you are? Why does that matter? You should be safe in your own home, and if you’re not then someone should help. It’s common… common _rutting_ sense!”

She tugged urgently on his paw and he glanced back at her. She locked on his eyes with her own and put her paw up to her mouth as she made shushing noises in warning. He smiled at her and dropped his voice. “See? You’re not stupid. You can make yourself understood. You _want_ to. And so do I. We can figure it out… we don’t need the likes of him.”

They stopped a short way from her house, and Asher pulled out the primer again to look through it. “I don’t know how anyone could read this anyway. What kind of alphabet is this? How do you know how to pronounce anything? It all looks the same.” He bit his lip, and found the one particular word that he thought should be simple enough to translate: bamboo. He pointed to it and asked, “Can you say this?”

The panda cub watched in weary frustration as the word dismantled and shattered into something unrecognizable, and she shook her head. “ _I can’t read that. Not any of it._ ”

Asher looked back at the book, and knitted his brow. “That can’t be it… that’s way too long.” He pointed again, tapped on the word insistently. “Try again for me.”

The embarrassment was becoming physically painful, turning her stomach inside out, and she smacked the book out of his paws as she hissed, “ _I’m telling you I can’t! I never could! I never will! Stop asking me to!_ ”

“Whoa, whoa, okay… sorry.” He put his paws up defensively while she huffed through trembling lips, trying to hold back discouraged tears. “Come on, don’t cry… it’s all right. We’ll come back to it, okay? Let’s just try something different. Kitty steps.” He grabbed a bamboo stalk in his paw and gave it a tug until it swayed. “Bamboo.”

He pointed at her and waited. She looked at him blankly for a second, and as before he indicated the stalk in his paw and repeated the word again.

“ _Zhú?_ ” she said hesitantly, and then again with more conviction as she watched his face brighten. “ _Zhú._ Bamboo.”

“Bamboo. _Zhú._ ” He leapt up onto it with all four paws holding on tight until it bent over and he was looking at her upside down with a goofy, playful grin on his face. She couldn’t help but giggle at his silliness, and his smile widened even further. “Thatta girl. We’ll show him, won’t we, Mei? Oh… I should ask…”

He jumped down. Gone was the smile, and he looked at her instead with a serious face. “Tell me what to call you. Your choice.” He pointed to himself and said, “Asher,” and then at her, “Méiyǒu? Or Mei?”

She held her breath as she considered what she was certain he was asking. It never occurred to her that she would have the option to choose her name, to shed the stigma that she’d been saddled with since the day she was born. To not be the burden, the unworthy, the nothing cub. To be something.

To be anything.

“Mei,” she said, putting her paws together and bowing low to him, hoping he could understand all the gratitude that was welling within her. “ _Please._ ”

Asher smiled and bowed to her, also. “Mei it is.”

*****

“How do you do that?”

Melanie looked up from the box in her paws at Judy. She seemed even closer now. “Do what?”

“Translating the Common. How can you do that if you weren’t fluent yet?”

“Oh.” She reached up and gave a gentle tug at one of her ears. “My reading very poor, but the brain tends to make up for what is lacking. I hear, I remember.” Melanie dropped her eyes and her voice. “Never forget what I hear.”

“That’s… it’s amazing.” Judy put her cheek in her paw, elbow set on her knee. “If you ask me, that teacher was the real idiot.”

“No,” Melanie said firmly. “That is not fair to say. Intelligence does not decide what takes up space in a mammal’s heart. He was missing empathy, but not intelligence.”

“Alright, fine. Scum, then.”

“Again, I think no. He was not without concern for one more important to him. If you think someone is danger to your friend, would you help them?”

“If they were hurt and needed my help?” Judy locked soft, but adamant, eyes with Melanie. “I’d really like to think so.”

The panda blinked, and then nodded. “Yes… so do I.” A few seconds passed as she tilted the little wooden box back and forth between her paws. “I do not think he was bad mammal. When he looked at my friend, he has kind, caring face.”

It was the same sort of face that Vincent had whenever he shifted the conversation to focus back on her. Was that what had her locking up with every question that he asked? What made her so deserving of that consideration, that face, and not her patients?

Melanie pushed him out of her mind. There was no room for him right now with the storm still churning, still intensifying. “He wanted was to protect his student. He does not do in right way, but maybe he does not know different.”

Judy raised an eyebrow at her. “I don’t get it. That guy was a grade-A jerk. Same goes for that pig. Why do you give them a pass like it’s okay to behave like that? Don’t you think some mammals are just simply _bad_ inside?

“That is too big question.” Seeing Judy was not accepting of that answer, Melanie considered and attempted to boil down the many conflicting thoughts she had regarding this topic to something simple. “It is not ‘pass’ but more self-preservation. I prefer to believe little good somewhere is in everyone. We decide with our choices if we help it grow, or smother. The way we live, the mammals we listen to, the friends we keep… all either poisons or nourishes that good. Hate and bias are same, no? These are things either fed… or starved.”

Judy drummed her fingers against her knee. In the short time she’d been on the police force, she’d witnessed the dregs of society do unspeakable things to innocent mammals for a multitude of downright deplorable reasons. She was present for the aftermath of rapists, and murderers, and bigots, and abusers. Beatings and maulings and gorings. Dawn Bellwether’s savage crisis. These types of mammals needed to be behind bars, and it was her job to put them there. It was very difficult to entertain the thought that there could be any good in mammals like that.

“You know, I’m a real sucker for second chances, and turning over a new leaf and all of that,” she said eventually, “but at some point, a mammal falls too far to save. Some are just rotten straight through to their core.”

“That is appropriate opinion for police officer,” Melanie conceded. “As I say, my view is mostly self-serving. Perhaps there are just bad mammals, yes… but then if there are then I am product of one.”

Judy frowned. “You’re not like your mother, Melanie.”

“I think in some ways I am.” She gripped the box tightly, felt the wood giving beneath the force of her powerful paws. “More than I want to be.”

“You would never raise your paw to a kid.”

“But I have, no? First time I see my friend, Judy, I try to hurt him. First time he sees me, he only tries to help me. Who is bad mammal there?”

“That’s utterly unfair. You were a cub left outside alone. _Any_ mammal could have come up to you— _I_ could have come up to you!—and you would have had every reason to react the same way.”

“The wrong way. With violence. In my fear, my anger, I react to a child no bigger than me with teeth and claws… because he has spots.” Melanie hunched her shoulders. “To say I am nothing like her would be naïve. And if I am like her, then probably once she was like me.” Melanie sniffed, and furrowed her brow. “If I did not have my friend, surely I would be much different.” She turned her paw out toward Judy. “Maybe you would be different without yours.”

More than a few twitches graced Judy’s nose as she mulled over that disturbing thought. She didn’t want to consider where she would be today—where the _city_ would be today—without Nick. While everything that he had said to her stung at the time and cut her so deeply that it hurt for weeks, they were all things she needed to hear. Without him, would she have ever seen the crisis in the light that she needed to break through the sinister veil of the hidden conspiracy?

It wasn’t a ‘what if’ Judy cared to see to its abominable conclusion.

“These reactions, the way we view others in the world… we do not know any of these things when we are born,” Melanie continued. “We are taught. We do not know we learn such things until it becomes ‘just the way it is.’ But sometimes—if we are very lucky—someone will come and show us a better path. They nurture the good… and then we can see things the way we always should have.”

Judy locked her arms behind her and leaned back against them. “So that’s what your friend was for you, then. Treated you nicely, helped you learn some Common… I don’t see how that’s a mistake. What was so bad about that?”

Melanie sighed. “For a long while, nothing. It was best thing ever happens to me, knowing him. I have something—some _one—_ to look forward to. Makes the hard days bearable. We meet when it is dark, after he leaves school. Little by little we teach each other our languages.”

How long had it been since she’d visited memories of those wonderful nights? So long… too long. The happy meetings at the big, wide, flat rock by the path to the mountain. The smiles and quiet laughter beneath every phase of the moon. The occasional romp, the short games of chase around the woods to blow off steam after long, frustrating lessons.

The warm embraces, and the whispered words of friendship and love. Melanie could still remember them all… the reminders of what was now missing from her life.

She inhaled a sharp breath and squeezed her eyes shut to keep the tears in. “He was so smart, Judy… he knows Pandarin very well when I can still just put few words of Common together. When I tell him I am hungry and hurt, and kept from class, he helps me learn other things… even to read my own language. Some nights he cannot stay, but he always leaves me something… in this.” She patted the box with her paw gently, so gently. “Even when I have too little to eat, I know he will bring me food. It is enough to get to the next day. I get stronger, he shows me to climb. I can reach the leaves, crack the thinner branches up high. Start relying on my mother less and less. I make her angry on purpose, so she will throw me outside and not come looking for me.” Melanie opened her brown eyes again to find the caring violet ones, steadied herself against them as the gale inside tore even more pieces from her. “I loved our secret friendship. I am very sure it saved my life.” She traced the enormous crack in the side of the box with her claw and murmured, “He saved my life.”

Judy tugged at one of her drooping ears as silence set in. Melanie hunched her shoulders even further, folding in on herself like she might collapse at any moment. Her breaths came shorter as her eyes refocused, looking now through and past and far, far away.

“Something happened to him.” The panda stayed staring off into the distance, even as she gave a single grim nod. Judy twitched her nose and gripped her paws on her knees, dug her claws into her jeans uneasily. “Do you want to stop? I mean… I can understand if you might not want to keep going…”

Melanie blinked then, and she brought her attention back to the table and the rabbit and the box and the present moment as she said, “Good that you ask. Good instinct you have, and I appreciate.” She considered, and took a shaky breath. “Never been so close. I think now I must finish or maybe never be this close again.”

Judy pulled her knees up into her chest and hugged them tightly. “Alright. Well then… what happened?”

“What usually happens to secrets?” A strangled, miserable grimace played over Melanie’s face, and she regarded the bamboo bundles against the wall woefully. “They seldom stay secret as long as we want them to.”

*****

Mei ran through the bamboo forest as fast as she could with her tiny knapsack bumping against her back, one paw grabbing at it and the other rubbing at her still throbbing ear. It had been a bad night, and getting outside took much longer than it usually did.

It was to be expected, to some degree, that interactions between her and her mother would start to escalate eventually. She’d grown, and found a new path away from the terror and abuse. Someone had chosen her, and just the knowledge that such a thing was possible opened so many doors she hadn’t even known existed. Asher leant her his strength, and oh, how she grew strong. Strong… and willful. The more he taught her, the more she learned, the more meals they shared, the less willing she was to put up with her mother’s nasty words and heavy paw.

She stopped answering to Méiyǒu. She held her new name close, and it filled all those empty spaces inside to the brim with light and love, even when the shadow of her mother was looming over her.

Asher was lounging atop the big flat rock when she arrived, tail flitting up and down as he stared lazily up at the bamboo leaves and branches above him. He turned and sat up as she came into view, his face lighting up with a grin so bright the stars might have been jealous.

“There you are! I wondered when… oof!”

She didn’t stop at the rock, but hopped it and tackle hugged him at full speed instead. He gave a hearty laugh as he fell backward, and his laughter settled into a rhythmic purr as her quick, panting breaths slowed back to normal.

She nuzzled her cheek against his and released him with a relieved look. “ _I was so worried you wouldn’t come. It’s going to rain._ ”

He wagged a finger at her. “Nuh uh, say it in Common. We agreed it would be your turn tonight.”

She stuck out her tongue through a disgusted face. “ _Such a complicated language. I hate it._ ”

Asher gave a good-natured sigh, and shook his head with a smile. “ _Most of the world speaks Common, Mei. It’s important. You have to keep practicing._ ” It was always a wonder, how easily he spoke her language, as though he had known it for his entire life as opposed to just a little over a year. “So, no more Pandarin for now. Okay?”

She crossed her arms with a grumpy pout. “Fine.” After a few seconds of inner translation, she repeated, “I worry you do not come. It will rain soon.”

“I _was_ worried,” he corrected gently. “You _would_ not.”

“I was worried you would not come.”

“Much better. And don’t worry about the rain.” Asher widened his grin and grabbed for his bag, pulling out of it a neatly folded blanket and the little box of food they would be sharing tonight. “I came prepared.”

“Of course you did.” She removed her knapsack from her back and set it beside his. “Why do I think you are not prepared?”

Asher laughed, reaching back into his bag again to pull out a thin, wide book. He turned to her, holding it up between his paws with barely contained excitement. “I have a surprise for you. Do you want it now, or after we eat?”

He seemed so pleased with himself, and while she didn’t want to squelch his enthusiasm, the thought of a night filled with more bookwork made her stomach turn. “Food, yes. Book, no.”

“Oh, come on.” He reached out to her slowly—always slowly, so slowly—and put a tender paw on her arm. “I promise you’ll like it.”

She gave him a disgruntled huff and then a resigned sigh. How could she say ‘no’ to that face? “We eat first, then. Book after.”

Asher tied the blanket that he brought to the bamboo stalks above them to form a little lean-to canopy as the rain started to fall, a drizzle at first and then more steadily until the pitter patter in the leaves and the trees around them muffled all other sounds, buried the scents of the forest around their cozy, dry little bubble. There was nothing else in the world in this moment but them and the rain. The two cubs sat and shared his fish between them while trading simple, pleasant conversation in Common. He repeated certain sentences in different tenses every so often to give her more practice with more challenging phrases, and though she still fumbled some, she was quick to correct and try again. How far she’d come from the ignorant, frightened girl hiding beneath the stairs of her house.

With stomachs full and minds content, Asher again produced the book he had brought, setting it on the rock between them. “Ready for your surprise?”

She sighed again, and put her chin in her paw as she set her elbow against her knee. “Ready.”

She thought when he opened it that it would be filled with words she would have to struggle through, the shifting scratches that seldom held still long enough to correctly interpret, but that was not the kind of book that he’d brought to show her tonight. It did have words, of course, but mostly it was filled with vibrant, detailed pictures.

“Okay, so we were learning about other places in the world at school, right?” He flipped through page after page as he spoke, pausing on each one so she had time to see them, also. “Take a look at these cities… there are so many, Mei. They’re _amazing._ ” Each time he turned to a new location she drew closer and closer, until she was staring enraptured just a few inches above the vivid illustrations. “And this one, this one here… just look at it.” He paused at one particular page, spreading it flatter with his paws and pointing at a sprawling cityscape. “This one’s my favorite.”

She read the title at the top of the page out loud. “Zoo…topia?”

“You got it!” Asher gave her a celebratory nuzzle against her shoulder. “On the first try, too. Good job. Try this next part.” He pointed to the smaller text just beneath it, just a single sentence. It started shifting around, and her initial reaction was to huff and freeze up, but he took her paw in his and moved it to the page with calm encouragement. “Don’t get frustrated. Slow down, trace the letters. Sound it out.”

She took a breath, blinked hard, and traced over the letters with her claw, until she could at last see a pattern that she could recognize begin to form. “Where anyone… can be… anything?”

“Perfect.” He hugged her sideways with a proud smile, and pointed again at the picture. “See? Look at all the different sections. Everyone has a place to call home, no matter what kind of mammal they are. They all live together as friends.” Asher put his paw down over a huge expanse of white and gray. “This is the place for me. Tundratown… all snow and mountains.”

She leaned down even closer over the book, excited now at the prospect that there might be a place in this beautiful city for her, too. “And for me? Bamboo?”

“I’m sure they do. I bet there’s a bunch right next door here,” he said, and pointed to the area immediately on the left of Tundratown labeled ‘Rainforest District.’ “Look at all that green… they must have bamboo there for you.”

“That is nice. I like that.”

“Some day we’ll go see it.” Asher sat cross-legged and leaned back against his arms with a contented hum as she picked up the book in her lap, drinking in the details of this place that she might one day call her home. “And then we’ll just stay there forever, neighbors and best friends, and no one will care. Won’t that be great?”

“Yes,” she said softly, and hugged the book to her chest like it would send the real place all her love even from half a world away. “That will be wonderf—”

“ _Shhhhh!_ ”

She snapped her head up at him, a sharp, piercing dread gripping at her insides; it was a sound she’d never heard him make before, harsh and urgent. Asher was staring out into the dark forest and listening, his ears turning in every direction. His bright eyes were impossibly wide, and in them she saw something that chilled the blood in her veins, that she had never seen in them before: fear.

“What is it?” She barely breathed the question, now also trying to listen out into the forest, but anything beyond the immediate vicinity was muffled by the sound of the rain and the ringing in her ears.

Asher twitched his nose, whiskers quivering. “I thought I heard…”

He turned away from the forest to look back at her, but his face instead tilted up and up and up and was staring now in panic above her. She spun around in time to see a white face thrust between the bamboo stalks. Her mother’s dark, wild eyes flashed with fury, frothing muzzle pulled back from long, white teeth. She was drenched through to the bone and breathing heavily, hot breath puffing from her mouth as she pushed the bamboo stems to the sides; they groaned and creaked beneath the might of her powerful arms.

“ _Méiyǒu, you… you wicked little wretch, where have you been?!_ ” she panted with rage only tempered slightly by exhaustion, and put her paws up on the rock, towering now over the two cubs.

Asher gripped his paws around Mei’s shoulders as she backed up into him. He heard her whispering, “Run,” but terror had him frozen beneath the hulking monstrosity before them; _this_ was the giant, the black and white beast that he’d been warned about, the vicious animal lurking in the poisoned forest.

The panda mother at first had only a laser focus on her child, but her attention shifted as the girl moved, now obviously blocking another little body.

A little body covered in spots.

“ _What is this?_ ” she demanded, and reared back with a guttural snarl. “ _What do you think you’re doing here, spotted monster?!_ ”

“ _Don’t!_ ” Mei stood and put out her arms as the massive paw drew back, a motion that she knew all too well, that she usually cowered beneath, that was usually reserved only for her, and that she dreaded to see aimed at anyone else—certainly not Asher. “ _Don’t you hurt him!_ ”

The mother bear paused barely a second, brief confusion exploding into outrage as the jet-black boom came crashing down to swat her daughter clear off her feet, off the rock. “ _Get out of my way, you miserable disgrace! How dare you embarrass me like this?_ ”

The panda cub plummeted to the ground with a bleating wail. She bounced once and tumbled end over end before finally coming to a stop, half sprawled in the mud. The wind went out of her lungs as stars burst into life and died just as quickly behind her eyes. She registered Asher calling out to her as she sputtered and coughed the slimy grit from her mouth, curled up in a ball of pain, and between the floating dots she watched her mother bearing down on him.

“ _Don’t… please stop…_ ” she croaked between desperate gasps, trying with all her might to rise, to reach him.

There was a sharp, jarring snap underfoot, a sound that her mother paid no mind to but that ripped into Mei’s insides like flaming hot shards of glass; the little wooden box split beneath the considerable weight being pressed upon it. The blanket canopy was batted down as the giant panda raised her menacing paw again, growling face overflowing with blind, ancient hatred drawn from depths where no light could penetrate, of black, blacker, blackest murder.

It was no contest between her mother and her friend, a full grown giant panda against a snow leopard cub. Asher blocked her effectively only once, but the force of her blow made him howl in pain and he turned on his heels to try and flee immediately. She grasped him by his tail as he scrambled like mad to get away from her, and Mei heard a nauseating _crunch_ as it was crushed in her grip.

She would remember the sound of his scream forever.

Her mother swiped once, twice across his chest and came down one final time with a devastating blow overhead. He crumpled to the ground like a puppet that had just had its strings cut. The monster gnashed her teeth, snarling down at the tiny heap of fur now laying still and silent beneath her. She gave an annoyed but seemingly satisfied snort, and began stalking away and toward her child.

Mei had at last gotten her legs beneath her and threw herself toward the lifeless body of her friend, screaming his name over and over in the hopes he would respond to it. Her mother caught her by the scruff of her neck as she tried to run past, and began to drag her back in the direction of the house, that place that held only a future filled with even more horrors than she had yet experienced. She squirmed and scratched at the vise-like grip.

“ _Let go of me!_ ” Mei wailed, digging her claws into the paw latched onto her. “ _How could you?!_ ”

Her mother snorted, and instead picked her insubordinate cub up and pinned her between her arm and her side like a bundle of firewood.

“ _Seditious parasite,_ ” she said, and cuffed her daughter roughly for good measure. “ _You have the audacity to insult me so, to dishonor the forest like this? I find you keeping a little mountain monster as some kind of… some kind of_ pet _? Have you lost what little sense you ever had?_ ”

“ _He is my friend!_ ” the little girl cried, now wriggling even more fiercely. “ _He is my friend! He did nothing to you! You will not take him from me! I won’t let you! You can rot! Savage brute, let me GO!_ ”

Mei turned then and got the big black arm in front of her face, opened her mouth as wide as she could, and chomped down on it with every bit of strength that she had in her jaw. She sank her teeth in even as her mother flailed, until she felt the flesh giving way, warmth spurting the taste of liquid life over her tongue. She fell to the ground with a patch of skin and fur in her mouth. She spit it out as she took off running while her mother howled in pain and rage behind her just before giving chase.

Being smaller meant Mei could slip between the bamboo stalks easily as opposed to her mother who lost speed and momentum crashing through each one. She put enough distance between them, and then headed toward the stinking ferns and low weeds of the riverbank. She threw herself beneath the wide leaves, covered her head with her paws, and prayed silently that the forest would keep her secret just one last time.

“ _Despicable little hellion!_ ” Her mother crashed past bellowing furiously, clutching at the wound on her arm and screaming epithets at the child she had lost sight of. “ _I swear when I get my paws on you…!_ ”

Mei waited, holding her breath half to death until the sounds of pandemonium were out of earshot. She popped her head out from the ferns, gave a long hard look around, and bolted back in the direction that she’d come. Back to the path by the mountain and the low rock where she knew she’d still find him.

She came upon the crumpled heap that was her friend, the mass of fur matted from the red that flowed out of the gashes in his chest, the knotted spots now smeared from the mixing mud and gore. He was lying face up, staring at his blood slicked paw, then snapped his head around as she knelt beside him; for the briefest instant there was sheer horror in his wide amber eyes before they softened back into an eerie calm, a look that was half appreciation and half shame.

“Good, it’s you.” He tried to smile, but his face twisted up with pain instead, mouth half open and drawing gasping, greedy breaths, eyes blinking through the raindrops. “Careful, I… I think I… threw up.”

“ _Oh, that’s… that’s okay,_ ” she said, taking his paw in hers and gulping back the whimper that was building in her throat. “ _Don’t worry about that…_ ” His eyes went vacant at her words, lost the smart sharpness that she was so used to seeing when she spoke to him. She forced a fake smile onto her face and a calm, gentle tone to her voice. “Is all okay. Do not worry. I help, I take you home. Will be fine.”

He nodded once, dully. “Yeah… I’d like to be home…” His eyelids fluttered, his eyes rolling back and dousing the warm light. “It’s so cold here all of a sudden…”

She shook his shoulder urgently, squeezed his clammy paw. “Please do not sleep, you must stay awake. Stay here… with me.”

She took heart at the groan that escaped his lips and flew into inexperienced action, tore apart the soaked blanket into shreds and wrapped the strips around his chest. They turned a deep crimson immediately as she pressed on his chest.

He hissed in a rattling breath, pulling at her paw weakly. “Hurts… Mei, please stop…”

“Sorry, sorry… I know hurts, but too bleeding,” she said, and tore up another strip. “I will stop, promise.”

She lied. Every touch of her paw made him cry and beg her to stop; every wail and hiss and yelp she cherished because it meant he hadn’t left her yet.

Mei pressed the book Asher had brought over his chest and tied it to him with the straps she ripped from his knapsack. She cinched the whole arrangement of makeshift bandages as tight as she dared and hoisted his limp body up onto her back. The broken box went into her bag, and that she put her arms through and around behind him to keep him from falling off as she ran.

She needed all four of her paws for the trek up the mountain. She had been warned never to return, but there was no other place she could think to go, and no staying here.

She would never let the forest have him.

The rain became snow as she climbed, the wind now whistling over them. It bit through her still damp fur and made her teeth chatter; she hurried as fast as she could up the path she’d traveled only once before. Every step she took she was talking to him, purposely butchering the words she spoke, aching to hear his kind instruction that never came. When the air thinned she took to praying beneath her breath, because she couldn’t hear his anymore through the sound of the rising siren in her ears.

At the flat ledge the panda cub took off at a sprint to the pile of rocks that all at once became the form of the schoolhouse. She plowed into the front door, clawing at the entrance and the doorknob until it gave way and she stumbled inside the classroom that had only one lesson left to teach that night.

Mr. Rimes sat hunched over his desk reading papers when the door slammed open, and he was on his feet with claws out and teeth bared at the snow-flecked and bloodied form that stumbled over the threshold. It took a moment before he recognized the now plumper, but still bedraggled, form of the panda cub he’d seen in his classroom just a little over a year ago. His voice purled over a low rumble.

“ _What are you doing here?_ ” he demanded. “ _I thought I told you—_ ”

“Help.”

He stopped at the desperate plea in Common that she uttered over a motionless bundle she set gently—so gently—on the floor. He didn’t realize what it was until it rolled, the sweet face of his clever student lolling out to the side.

The panda cub took his paw in hers, nuzzled it to her cheek and stared at Mr. Rimes with heartbreaking despair. “Please help.”

“What happened?” He hurried around his desk gracelessly, colliding with two of the small tables as he knelt over Asher’s body and grabbed the little paw out of hers. “Get away from him!” He shoved her back, ran his enormous paws over the broken, half-frozen cub on the floor. “No. No, no, no, come on, boy. Open your eyes for me.” He tore his sweater off, started to wrap the little cub in it as he bent over listening for breath, pulled the book away from his chest and cursed as fresh blood again poured from the wounds hiding beneath.

“You horrible little _beast_.” Mr. Rimes turned on the panda cub wringing her paws beside him as he pulled his student tightly to him. “What have you done?”

She froze, torn between running from the snow leopard pulling his muzzle back from his teeth and drawing toward her friend she couldn’t bring herself to leave. “Not me. I never would. He is my friend. I never hurt him.”

“What do you call this?!” he screamed in a half-hysterical voice that wasn’t remotely one a teacher would use. “A friendship with the likes of you was never going to end in anything but tears! What exactly did you think was going to happen? Now you’ve killed him!”

She blinked, staring, and every part of her went so numb she could have been set on fire and not felt a thing. “No. No, you fix. You save him.”

Mr. Rimes was on his feet, towering over her with arms wrapped protectively around his pupil as he bore down on her. “I can’t fix this!”

She backed away in horror, tripped over her bag in the doorway and tumbled out into the snow. She reached out with one final plea, aching for one kind word, one warm look that would give her some hope. “Please. You do not let him die.”

But there would be no warmth here on the mountain without her friend beside her; the elder leopard’s words fell upon her colder than the snow. “He was dead the day he met you.”

Every wail and scream and siren rang in her ears, a harsh dissonance of anguish that blanked the sight from her eyes as she turned to flee. She had only enough presence of mind left to grab her little knapsack before she bolted from the place she laid him to rest in. Behind her a heartrending cry went up into the air, echoing off the peaks of stone to follow after her all the way down the mountain.

She ran and ran, fled like the animals of old on all fours until everything that was familiar fell far behind, until she couldn’t even see the mountain anymore. And when her legs could carry her no further she laid weeping beneath the bamboo stalks and ate them one by one while the whispering wind fed nightmares into her ears. In her paws she cradled the little broken box, all that she had to remind her of the friend who had dared to love her, and that that was the very reason she would never see him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...now that I think about it, this was a terrible birthday present. ;_; No substitutions, exchanges, or refunds, I'm afraid... but if you have any questions, comments, or feedback please drop it in the box below.
> 
> Now if you'll all please excuse me... I'm gonna go have myself an _ugly cry_ over here for a little while...


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As their time together draws to a close, Judy learns more from Melanie about her time in Zootopia and the N.I.T.E. program that had contracted her services. More questions come to light that demand answers, and it's up to the city's first rabbit officer to again put her talents to the test for the good of all the mammals that live there. Meanwhile, Melanie addresses the messages left on her phone and finds that at least one patient still needs her to be there for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *out of breath* I'm here! I'm here!
> 
> Whew... almost didn't make it. It was a heavy writing month... for other stories as well as this one. You may notice an end chapter number... we're in the homestretch.
> 
> No warnings this time around... only support and healing from one professional to another.
> 
> Enjoy!

“So maybe you understand better now why I consider mistake.” Melanie’s misty eyes had dropped to the big black paws she shared with her mother, to the little box that had been broken by such paws long ago.

Even though Melanie had shared all that had molded her into the mammal that she was today, the heaviness that weighed on her heart hadn’t changed, hadn’t moved. It just had a floodlight shined upon it, and now she could see all the raw and festering wounds that she had never attended to. That she’d buried in the darkness and run from, even after she had been trained to help others heal from the same kind of ordeals.

Her head was bowed as she stared at the memento, the little bit of him that she always kept close. Her paws trembled around it. “You ask me why I care so much. He is reason why I care.”

There was a tiny pressure from a paw under her chin and old habit made her stiffen with a defensive flinch, but there was no menace in Judy’s touch. It was soft and coaxing, gently urging Melanie to look up at her. Every movement became slow and deliberate, every bit of her that she shared with the hare instead being granted to the tortoise. Her violet eyes searched Melanie’s face for the okay, and she wrapped her arms around as much of the big bear head that she could. The tense breaths eased into the embrace and she pressed a light paw against the little rabbit’s back in return.

“What do I say?” Judy murmured into the white fur of her forehead, gentle stroking motions along her cheek. “‘Sorry’ doesn’t cut it… help me. What do I say?”

“Wish I knew myself.” Melanie pressed her head against Judy even more, suddenly craving the physical contact; the bunny braced herself against it and stood firm. “This is… this is good. This helps.”

“Okay. This I can do.”

And for some minutes, a rabbit was all that stood against the maelstrom that had kicked up inside her. Standing and holding against it without judgment, without reservation… and between those tiny arms at last it started to settle and peter out. The dragging heaviness looped about her heart started to crack and loosen, slightly, just the tiniest bit of movement… but it was noticeable. And just the fact that yes, it could be moved was enough for her to think that she might be capable of that feat. If not yet, someday.

Someday she might move the grotesque darkness aside and forge herself a path forward… without it.

“It wasn’t your mistake.” Whispered words, warm breath against her forehead. “And it wasn’t your fault.”

Tightened face, a distorted grimace against the internal crumbling. “I would have died without him. He would have lived without me. For all the kindness he showed to me, he did not deserve what end I bring him.”

“You tried to save his life.”

“Failed to. Failed, failed, one thing, only thing wish I succeeded at.” She sighed so heavily that the fur on Judy’s feet parted beneath the stream of air. “He should be here.”

“Yes.” Judy gave an even firmer squeeze, and then pushed Melanie’s face back and up to look her square in the eyes. “Yes, absolutely yes. But you were just children. Someone—some responsible adult—should have protected you. _They_ failed _you_.”

“Changes nothing.” Something shifted in the force of the physical touch and Melanie felt the need to pull away, turning her head to look at the table. “But since I must be here instead, decided to make my time worthwhile. Try to help in ways I was not, that he was not. This is why I come here, _had to_ come here. Same thing takes my friend away from me hurts this place he wanted to see. I failed to save him… thought I could save them.”

“Which brings us to yesterday, a search warrant and nervous breakdown later. _God_ , Melanie.” Now Judy was pacing the table in front of her, reining in subdued gestures within crossed arms. “What are you _doing_ holding on to this? I had less, for a _week_ , and I was ready to tear my fur out. Isn’t this Therapy 101?”

“Of course,” Melanie allowed, “but… who was there to talk to? So long I fear adults would send me back to my mother. Even when I become older, hard to stop this worry. And children… I would never hurt them with such burden like I had… like he had.” Her grimace deepened against memories of lonely years, of mammal-watching while yearning for another friendship, the paralyzing anxiety always winning against the craving, the hunger for kindness and love she’d only gotten a small taste of before it was taken away. “Just focused on other things, make goals instead and… do not speak of. Become very good at hiding… good at lying.” She shrugged. “Pretend long enough, eventually becomes normal.”

“So you made this your new normal? A life of no relationships, just a revolving door of battered mammals you patch up and put right and send off on their way without showing yourself the same consideration? Don’t you deserve that same kind of care?” Judy stopped pacing and bent over to try and meet Melanie’s downturned eyes, earning only a few blinks before she straightened back up and continued. “Let me ask you this: do you think for one second that he wanted you to live the rest of your days regretting your friendship? To torture yourself, weigh every single action you make on a scale to determine if it’s worthy of the time he was robbed of? When will it end? When will it ever be enough?”

Melanie blinked and clenched her teeth together. It was a succinct summary, and once it was put to words so plainly she could see how disastrously damaging such thinking had become to her. Not that she hadn’t known this somewhere all along, deep down.

Judy stood, thumping her foot lightly against the table as much in consideration as in frustration. Her shift was looming closer with every passing second, but how could she leave with this still hanging so raw, so open, so unresolved? How could she go about helping a doctor that had spent so long neglecting to help herself?

Her eyes wandered around the living room and back to the table as a brilliant idea came to her. She let a little smile tug at her mouth as she said, “Now that I think about it, I know someone you should probably have a talk with.”

“You do?” A rack of antlers and spectacles crossed through Melanie’s mind, made her stomach lurch against a wall of cold as she asked the half-hearted question. She placed her head in her paw and propped her elbow on the table.

“Yeah, definitely… hang on…”

A gray blur zipped beneath Melanie’s chin, and she watched as Judy grasped the shiny kettle that was bigger than she was around the handle. With great effort, she started dragging it across the table, and within a few seconds had it repositioned in front of the panda. Melanie leaned away from it, shifting her gaze from Judy to the face in the belly of the teapot and back again.

“I don’t know what to say to convince you that what happened to you and your friend wasn’t your fault,” Judy said, and leaned her shoulder against the handle. “I think it’s probably well above my training. But, I will suggest that you’ve been hard enough on yourself for too long at this point. You deserve to give yourself a break.” She gave the mirror image a pat. “Don’t you think it might be about time you forgive you, also?”

The way the curved surface reflected her face back at her made her muzzle tiny and her eyes enormous, and she didn’t see herself or even her mother as she so often did when she looked in the mirror. It wasn’t an adult face at all. It was a young face. A cub face.

It was ludicrous. Ridiculous. A caricature of mocking satire that tickled her chest where the heavy darkness was, dared to give it a glib prod and say “enough.”

A laugh bubbled out of the absurdity. Then another. And another. Judy started to smile wide, thought for the most fleeting of moments that there could be something good to come to the panda also from their time this morning. But the laughter tripped over itself, cracked and fell down until the chuckle became a sniffle became hysterical, and Melanie pressed both paws hard against her eyes in the throes of heaving sobs that for all accounts should have been accompanied by tears that didn’t come.

Judy had a dozen variations of soothing nothing words repeating over and over again as tiny arms again wrapped around the big black paws and white head, shushing noises overlaying each stroke over her forehead. “Shhh… hey, come on, don’t… I didn’t mean to…”

“No, you did. And you should mean to.” Melanie’s voice steadied itself faster than she thought it would considering the intensity of the squall of emotion that had burst through a bit of genuinely valuable guidance. “Insightful… good instinct. Made a very good suggestion.” She rubbed her eyes hard and put her paws down on the table as Judy took a step back. “Sorry for outburst… sometimes is easier to give advice than to take it.” A crippled smile limped onto her face. “I do want to. Want to be happy. All time I spend becoming doctor, coming to Zootopia. Just to think… to think I could be happy again. Helping them made me happy, Judy. All I wanted was here.” She looked aside at the luggage still open on the floor and sighed. “Just wanted to stay.”

“So stay,” Judy said, throwing an arm out toward the suitcase also. “You didn’t do anything wrong. That session… everyone is okay. Nick and I… we won’t say anything more about it. Stop packing. You don’t have to leave.”

“You do not understand.” The corners of her vision hazed up, tears welling. “I want to stay. I cannot stay now.”

“Why not? Maybe the group sessions won’t continue, but you can just treat your patients somewhere else, can’t you?

“Wish it was so simple.” Melanie’s head lowered in disappointment. “Was very specific part of my contract. Residence and work visa were granted only if I provide service for N.I.T.E. Program ends, so does contract. Cannot stay here without it.” She huffed a short laugh. “I do have some little pride, so I pack. Would much rather leave on my own than be removed like a criminal.”

Judy frowned. “But… I’m sorry, I’m confused. You had a _contract_? I thought that the sessions were supposed to be completely voluntary for all counselors. Encouraged, but voluntary. A tax write-off, if anything.”

Melanie shook her head slowly. “I was told the city’s therapists cannot renew license to practice without leading one class, at least.”

“That doesn’t seem fair.” Judy crossed her arms as her long ears shot straight up. “Wait, what about you, then? You were contracted for a program that wasn’t paying you?”

“Was given work visa and housing free. Those things are much cost, I understand. I could receive little pay for private sessions. Not much else I needed here but food and phone. It was fine. Really.” Melanie leaned back in her chair. “Just to come here was enough. I wait on list for two years to migrate to Zootopia. I receive notice offering these things to me, it could have been written by God. I never would have said no.”

 _Two years??_ Judy drummed her fingers against her arm, her mind revving, her nose twitching. Red flags were going up all over the place.

“Apply for an extension,” she said and brought her phone up to search the internet for more information regarding non-citizen forms and applications. “Claim mitigating circumstances, at least; you’re in no condition to travel right now. Don’t you know someone that could give you a medical excuse or something?”

“No.” It surprised Melanie how quickly the rejection formed in her mouth, how it tasted like burned bridges. The one mammal whose name came to mind she could never bring herself to pose such a request to. “Beside this, how likely it would be processed in time, you think?”

“Surely it couldn’t take that lo—six months?!” Judy nearly dropped her phone.

“Yes, this sounds about right. If I had enough time as resident could maybe apply for more permanent status, but I do not have this… need twelve months. Only have ten.” Melanie gave a resigned and rueful smirk as she rose from her chair. “Somehow I find myself on all wrong side of every rule.”

Judy looked up from the small touchscreen in her paws, confounded. “I… I don’t even…” A fierce look that shared a few emotional ties with outrage played over her face. “This is wrong.”

“Right or wrong is no matter. It is what it is, and I will not break the law. My visa becomes invalid when N.I.T.E. program ends, so only thing I can do is prepare to leave. Which I should continue doing now.” Melanie waved her paw at Judy, motioning for her to step down from the table.

“So that’s it?” Judy demanded, leaping down from the table to the chair, from the chair to the floor, turning on the panda hotly. “You’re just gonna hop the next boat out of here? Just give up?”

“I release my patients, lose my authorization to stay here legally, and soon have no place to live. Should I be homeless in city I love? Is that better path?” Melanie felt her face tightening from irritation at the bunny’s statement, and she took a breath to soften her muzzle and her tone. “There is saying I learn here applies, I think: ‘You cannot fight City Hall.’ I make enough mess. Need to clean it up and take my leave civilly, without fuss.”

“I don’t agree with you.” Judy stamped her foot against the floor repeatedly while Melanie walked past her to the apartment door to let her out. “I really don’t.”

“Fine to disagree. Important thing is to do so respectfully.” The door swung inward with a light squeak of the hinges. “It is very kind of you try to help me and I appreciate. Nothing more to do here. Go and be good mammal, good police officer. City needs this… now more than ever.”

The long black tipped ears sank against her back as Judy walked with stiff steps to where the panda stood, pausing just in front of her. “It’s not right. None of it… N.I.T.E. ending, everything that happened this week, everything that happened… to you. It’s not right. I want to fix it but… it feels like it’s not something that can be fixed.”

Melanie looked out past Judy at the other side of the hallway, focused on a speck of dirt on the far wall like it might open a gateway to a world where no such injustices as they had witnessed recently existed. “Well… not fixed yet. Not fixed soon. Maybe not fixed ever. But still, must always try.” She looked down at Judy and made every attempt to banish the grimace that was puckering at her forehead. “Keep trying. Go do good work. Talk to your friend.” She turned and looked back at the table where the little box sat and pressed her lips together. “I think maybe it is time I put mine to rest.”

Judy attempted a wry smile. “And have a chat with your kettle while you’re at it?”

Melanie looked back and blinked. “…Eventually, yes. Maybe not today, but… soon. I think soon.” She put her paws together in front of her and bowed low to Judy in goodbye. “Thank you for staying with me when I need someone to listen.”

Without warning, Judy zipped beneath her head and hugged her tight around her leg as Melanie stifled a surprised breath. “Wish I had helped more,” she murmured against the bunches of fabric she was folded up in.

The panda straightened up and patted Judy lightly on her back. “Some things cannot be resolved with one talk. But even a single step in right direction is worthwhile and you… today you start something for me. Something I think will be good… someday. Know this, without question.” Melanie tugged at the bunny’s shirt collar between her two claws and Judy released her grip to leave. She leaned her shoulder against the frame as she took the knob in her paw. “I am glad I meet you, Judy Hopps. Take care.”

“You too.” Judy paused in the middle of the hallway for a few seconds before turning back. “Did anyone ever consider that maybe the second cub might be the strong one?” The expression that fell upon Melanie’s face made it clear what the answer was. Judy tapped her head with her finger and started away down toward the elevator. “Something to think about.”

Melanie stepped back slowly, closed the door with a sigh, and stood addressing the cluttered mess that her apartment had become. She knew very well that coming back from the depressed state that had laid her so low might prove overwhelming. To attend to all that had been pushed aside while her mind was ailing. To care again about the condition of her life, thoughts, surroundings… hygiene. As with all things, it began with a single step.

She stooped down and picked up one of the pieces of bamboo husk at her feet. Then another. And another. When her arms were full she found one of the paper bags meant to dispose of the plant waste in the furnace and filled it.

A thing she knew about herself was how important it was to keep moving. Inactivity was still her enemy, still allowed room for past demons to set up shop and torment her. The only way she knew to avoid being crippled beneath the misery was not to have enough leisure to wonder whether or not she was feeling sad. It was something that she needed to face, and she would make it a point to resolve that behavior when she had something resembling a stable routine again. For all its faults, at least the N.I.T.E. program had kept her days full, kept her occupied and working and distracted. Kept all the gears of the coping machinery running at full tilt, propelling her forward without her ever looking at what was past, acknowledging it, or letting go of it. She’d have to find new ways, better methods once the dust settled and she was back at…

Melanie paused briefly as she set the now full bag by the door, forcing down the lump swelling in her throat. She hated to call Pandiscia her home, though what else could she call it? In the end, her place in Zootopia had always been temporary, a short-term contract, an interim position. Nothing about this city had become permanent for her, despite her many attempts to make it so. For all her hard work, it hadn’t become home.

_FLASH! “You’re too smart to work this hard with nothing to show for it at the end.”_

She felt her lips pull back, but whatever expression she was making she couldn’t count it as a smile. “Not really, Vincent. Put all my wagers on same stake. Lost.” She clicked her tongue with a shake of her head. “Fool panda, still… when I will learn?”

More movement, clearing the dirty dish and cups from the table, emptying the cold leftover tea from the kettle. She considered the kettle and the reflection in it for a long while, rummaged around in her brain for the desire to have that internal discussion before plunging the teapot into the sudsy water.

_Not now. More pressing matters now… been so long already, what’s another few hours?_

She washed the dishes, set them out on the counter to drip dry. Would these items make the cut into her bags? Would she have space for them? Was it wasted effort to even clean them when they might end up in the trash?

A shower. Melanie was now very aware of how filthy she felt from the stress of the past two days, the ripe scent that clung to her fur and her clothes. She stepped into a lukewarm spray from the overhead nozzle, let the cool, cleansing water soak her down to her skin, rinse some of the tension and anxiety down the drain. Fur dried and brushed fluffy, a clean set of clothes on, at last she felt ready to address the elephant in the room.

The elephant that was the exact size and shape of a cellphone.

While she was paralyzed with self-pity and anguish from the turmoil of her last class—and the news that she would never see another one—Melanie thought that making a quick break with her patients was the best and least embarrassing way of moving them to other counselors when she left the city. They had reached out with messages of hurt and dismay, expressed feelings of abandonment and betrayal upon receiving her referrals, as well they should have. She convinced herself that it was better for all of them when really it was only better for her, saved her from a conversation that felt disgraceful. She owed them all an explanation, and she wanted them to have one. They deserved one.

Melanie sat again at the little table, took a deep breath, and turned her cellphone back on. She took Asher’s box in her paw, held it to her as the phone cycled through startup to the home screen. The sheer number of notification noises that exploded from it once it was fully booted was unnerving, and it took a good deal of self-assurance and self-motivation to pick the phone up and begin attending to the very valid concerns that had been sent to it.

She started slowly, just moving through the text messages one by one to see who had reached out to her and when. Melanie had every intention of speaking to each of them in turn, but as her eyes moved through just the names attached to the new message alerts, there was one contact that kept popping up over and over again: Nathan Wagner.

Melanie cross checked her voicemails with similar results, and her heart began to race, a feverish accompaniment to the ringing in her ears. She read and listened to the messages that escalated with increasing urgency…

<…he won’t talk to me, to anyone. I don’t know how to help him, please… please call me back.>

<Dr. Leuca, it’s Nathan Wagner again… could you call me as soon as you get this? Please… I don’t think Sam’s eaten anything since the hospital. He hasn’t spoken since we got home… I’m worried…>

< _Please_ call me back. It’s… I’m scared. He locked himself in the…  please, I can’t get through to him. I need… he needs… please help us… >

The last voicemail was almost incoherent through the sounds of sobbing, but Melanie had heard enough. She stood up so fast that her chair fell to the floor and she bolted for the door. She threw her cell phone and keys into her handbag, and flew from the apartment, not bothering to wait for the elevator but instead taking the four flights of stairs down three steps at a time.

In her paw Melanie held the little box over her heart and prayed. She prayed that she had the strength she’d need to face this, hoped that this time she wouldn’t be too late.

That this time she’d know how to save a life.

*****

Again, Judy waited the short eternity it took for the elevator to climb back to the fourth floor, arms crossed and foot thumping a heated, frustrated beat against the rug. More and more she was noticing the shabbiness of the building, the dim lights that flickered, the carpet worn through in the most traveled places, the elevator that barely functioned.

For all the maintenance that this place must have seen, just how much _did_ it cost the city to put Dr. Leuca up in here? She had said she wanted to leave quietly, didn’t want to make a fuss. But that wasn’t Judy’s style. Judy was all about making fusses… especially when she was certain that one was warranted.

The elevator gave an off-key ding and struggled open. She stepped inside and faced the doors as they closed, and the view of the drab hallway was replaced by her reflection. Her ears sank, her stomach lurching along with the elevator.

“Dumb bunny,” Judy muttered, and looked away for a moment before squaring her shoulders and turning back to the rabbit in the mirror image. It seemed to sneer at her.

 _Got something to say?_ It wore a spiteful smile. _You’re awful good at running your mouth. Why don’t you just come out with it?_

“Knock it off,” she practically spat. “I can’t take back what I said last year. I wish I could, but I can’t. It was awful. But I’ve learned from it. I’m a better mammal because of it.”

_Are you now? That a fact?_

“Everyone chooses their path, right? I did that, made no excuses, owned it, and tried to make it right. Didn’t I?” Judy stabbed a finger in the direction of the reflection and it drew back. “I’ll never be perfect. I’m gonna mess up, and make mistakes, and that’s a part of life. I’m allowed to fail and try again. I’m allowed to be better. I’m _not_ the same dumb bunny anymore, and I don’t have to prove that to anyone.” She lowered her arm back to her side as the elevator slowed. Her ears popped up as her reflection fell back in line with her movements, and she nodded at herself. “You don’t have to prove it to anyone. Know it in your heart and let that be enough.”

The elevator dinged and the door split open to reveal the ground floor lobby. She took a breath to calm her racing heart as she strode forward. A familiar feeling of resolve and confidence set her blood on fire, and it was now coursing through her veins. “Good talk. Now let’s get to work.”

Because there was much work yet to be done today. Work that Judy was sure she was meant to take on.

She became a cop to make the world a better place. Some days that meant making one mammal’s world a better place.

Judy opened the web browser on her cellphone and did a quick Zoogle search: ‘Zootopia N.I.T.E. therapists.’ The first hit brought her to the official N.I.T.E. website, where she found an alphabetical list of the doctors and their qualifications, as well as contact information for each one. At a quick glance, there were two or three dozen names. Surely one of them would be willing and able to help.

 _Can’t fight City Hall, huh?_ Judy thought as she sprinted for the subway. _Watch me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Gasp!* Is that... could that possibly be a _plot_ I see?
> 
> Yes. Yes it is. ;)
> 
> GO JUDY! GO MELANIE! SAVE THEM! YOU'VE GOT THIS!
> 
> Questions, comments, and feedback in the box below. Thanks again for reading, everyone!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just as Dr. Buckner starts coming to terms with some unsettling realizations about himself, he receives an unexpected phone call from the ZPD's very own Officer Judy Hopps. Meanwhile, Dr. Leuca makes a house call to the Wagner residence in the hopes of bringing Sam back from the brink of a devastating decision, but first she'll have to convince an infuriated and sleep-deprived Kathleen Hoarfrost to let her try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there, everyone! A new chapter for you bringing back everyone's favorite grumpy reindeer doctor and a conversation that kinda got me choked up in a few places. Also ties up some loose ends that were still left hanging from the N.I.T.E. session.
> 
> Trigger warnings:  
> ~suicidal thoughts/references/attempt in progress  
> ~self-imposed starvation
> 
> And away we go!

_Deer… hedgehog… rabbit… antelope… sheep… llama… pig…_

Wednesday was usually a paperwork day, and although Dr. Buckner’s desk was covered in papers, not a whole lot of work had actually been done yet.

He had Sadie pull the old patient records from storage going back ten years. Some were thin files for mammals he’d only seen once, maybe twice. Others were tied with twine to keep what could have been close to a ream of paper from falling out. Boxes upon boxes of folders, each one a different mammal’s mental footprint in his office. Only a second was spent with each of them. There was only one piece of information that he wanted.

Species.

Dr. Buckner’s elbow was starting to go numb; he had his head resting against his fist going on an hour now as he clicked and clicked and clicked through his computer database, reviewing more recent profiles. His electronic records weren’t telling him any different story than the archives had.

In the past decade, he hadn’t treated a single predator in this office. The closest he’d come was a ‘bear’ rumored to eat more than thirty pounds of bamboo per day, and she wasn’t his patient any longer. If her fur were any other color, he was beginning to doubt he would have seen her at all.

Dr. Buckner picked his glasses off his nose and tossed them onto a stack of files as he leaned far back in his chair. His gaze wandered to the corner of the desk and the jagged scar etched where he’d bonded the broken pieces back together. The marks that he couldn’t bring himself to erase completely.

Melanie had been right. He didn’t see what he did. The next thing to do as a self-respecting therapist, of course, was to ask himself ‘why?’

 _Why, indeed._ Dr. Buckner closed his eyes with a harsh grunt up at the ceiling. _Could you be any more arrogant?_

Every day his office saw another parade of prey mammals. The only predator that walked through his waiting room was Sadie, and he hadn’t even hired her. She was just part of the practice when he took it over, begged him— _Did I make her beg?_ —to let her keep her job. She worked hard, too, always did everything that he asked—and he seldom asked nicely, either.

After so many years at the top of his field, Dr. Buckner had earned the luxury of choosing his patients, referring away the ones that he assumed couldn’t afford him, that he didn’t want to be bothered— _Bothered?_ —with. He didn’t even consult with them first anymore because he could do that now. He’d become entitled— _Entitled?_ —to control which mammals he surrounded himself with. And it was blatantly clear what his preference was.

Was he cut from the same cloth as Robert?

But then why why _why_ in the wide world of Zootopia did Melanie keep coming to see him? Obviously, she was aware of his… _proclivity_. So then if that was the case…

Dr. Buckner’s eyes flew open with a sudden realization and he smacked himself in the forehead. All the stories of all her patients, all the relentless repetitions coming back around to the same basic premise so simple he didn’t even hear it, even as she argued with him over and over again. “See them. Just see that they are also mammals who are hurting.”

_She wanted to help me, too._

He rocked forward against his desk with a groan and buried his face in his hooves. Another piece of the puzzle that was Melanie Leuca fell violently into place. She’d turned their appointments into another N.I.T.E. class, just for him. Because he had been unwilling—maybe incapable—of empathizing with the mammals that she supported, that she had asked for his help supporting. All this time she had been trying to make him see… and he’d ignored it, insisting he knew better.

 _God, I’m an_ idiot.

Even so… even so, he knew he hadn’t been entirely wrong. Just revisiting a few of the sentences that Melanie said made that obvious. The way she was internalizing everything that had happened to her—both in her childhood and the not so distant past—was completely destroying her mental well-being. Maybe she would have acknowledged that if he had…

<Doctor?>

Dr. Buckner cracked an annoyed eye open between his hooves and jabbed the intercom button. “What is it?” he asked, a callous edge leeching into his voice that he didn’t intend. He cringed as soon as the words left his mouth. _Rein it in, Vincent… it’s not her fault you’re such a narrow-minded animal. Be better._

<I’m sorry to interrupt,> Sadie said, <but the… the police are on the line, requesting to speak with you.>

He sat bolt upright in his chair and watched the little blinking red light on his phone with apprehension. Why would the ZPD be calling him? Was it something to do with Robert? With what he did? Or worse… something to do with Melanie?

Dr. Buckner set his glasses back on his snout. Whatever the police wanted wouldn’t go away by eluding their phone call. Best buck up and face the music, no matter what it sounded like.

“Thank you, Sadie. Go ahead and put them through, please.” He took a deep breath and picked up the phone. “This is Vincent Buckner, doctor of psychology and psychotherapy. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”

<Good afternoon, Dr. Buckner. This is Officer Judy Hopps with the ZPD. I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.>

 _Judy Hopps?_ The _Judy Hopps?_ Dr. Buckner glanced around the disaster area that his office had become. “Just a bit of paperwork. How can I help you, Officer Hopps?”

<I’m honestly not sure if you can, but I hope you might direct me a bit better than the last few therapists I’ve contacted today.>

He allowed himself to relax his grip on the phone a little. It sounded more like an informational inquiry she’d posed already to other doctors. He continued to choose his words carefully. “I’m happy to assist the ZPD in whatever way I can.”

<I appreciate that. I know your time is valuable, so I’ll cut to the chase. Are you acquainted with the N.I.T.E. program?>

“‘Acquainted’?” He would have laughed at the understatement, except that it confirmed what he assumed was probably the reason for the phone call. He endeavored to keep his voice steady. “Yes, I can safely say I’m acquainted with it.”

<Would you by any chance still have access to contact information for the patients that attended any of the sessions?>

Dr. Buckner raised an eyebrow. _Okay… certainly wasn’t expecting that._ “Now, that data would be considered confidential medical information. Do you have a subpoena?”

There was a frustrated sigh. <No.> She added quickly, <But I’m not requesting it for a court case.>

Without a subpoena, Dr. Buckner knew he was under absolutely no obligation to continue this conversation; he could very safely refuse all remaining questions citing patient privacy. Officer Hopps had probably met with similar rejections from his colleagues if this was the inquiry that she’d posed to them. All the same, a nagging feeling began to gnaw at the back of his mind. “Then what would you need it for?”

<It’s a little complicated.> The earpiece crackled like the phone was being jostled around at the other end. <I’m investigating an incident that occurred at the last N.I.T.E. session.>

 _Of course you are._ The arm of his chair gave a light creak within his tightening grip. “Alright, you’ve piqued my curiosity. I’m listening.”

<You’re… you are?> More crackling. <Okay, umm… well, a recent conversation with the counselor involved has raised some serious questions regarding the management—or maybe I should say _mis_ management—of program resources, and I—>

He barely registered the last half of her sentence. “You’ve spoken with Dr. Leuca?”

A very pregnant pause followed his question. <At length.>

Dr. Buckner cringed. He’d probably just revealed more to the officer on the other end of the phone than was wise, but the thought of Melanie being subjected to some kind of interrogation or questioning at the paws of the ZPD hit him in a way he wasn’t ready for. It replayed over and over until it was branded onto his brain. What kind of terrible stress, harrowing dread did she have to endure because of his professional error? Because of his indifferent and inconsiderate words? Was she being held, fined, reprimanded— _punished_ —because of him?

“I don’t know what you may have discussed,” he said, and his throat felt like it was coated in tar, his words came out so heavy and thick, “but if she’s facing any repercussions for what happened…” He swallowed the lump forming, and forced his voice to harden, to own the mistake he was loathe to admit he had made. “It wasn’t her fault.” _It was mine._

<I realize that, Doctor. I was there.>

He very nearly dropped the phone; _this_ was the police officer that had been at the session? “Were you, now…”

There was a clipped sigh, and then Officer Hopps’ voice increased pace, propelled along by what sounded distinctly like impatience. <Listen, as far as I’m concerned, assigning blame at this point isn’t going to do anyone a lick of good. There’s something fundamentally _wrong_ with how the whole program was handled, and the deeper I dig the more disturbing it becomes. Frankly, I think everyone got a raw deal here. The patients, the therapists, the contractors… everyone. >

 _Contractors?_ Dr. Bucker swept his tongue over dry lips, a terrible taste suddenly in his mouth. “I won’t disagree with you, but… what are you looking at that’s prompting all of this?”

<Oh, that’s a heck of a long story, and before I get into it I need to know this is the last phone call I have to make today. So, am I to understand I have your cooperation, Dr. Buckner?>

Another glance over at the corner of the desk. He didn’t even hesitate. “Absolutely.”

<Great! How much time do you have?>

“As much as you need.”

*****

Visits to the Meadowlands were always jarring for Dr. Leuca. The vast, wide open space that went on as far as the eye could see, an ocean of green so bright beneath an almost constantly sunny sky, dotted here and there by little houses set like tiny boats on the rolling sea. It was a much different green from the old forests, always in motion in the breeze and never setting still. It was like the Meadowlands couldn’t catch its breath; it was always breathing shallow, gasping, hurried. The bamboo forest breathed deeply, savoring each breath, inhaling everything and nothing at the same time.

The Wagner house was set far back from the road, and had more trees surrounding it than many of the other properties, mostly stunted dogwoods and little red maple trees. One of the small streams that branched off from the main river cut through their front yard, and there was a rustic wooden footbridge that spanned the little channel. The water beneath gurgled as she walked over it.

It could have been considered a peaceful place, if there weren’t the telltale signs of vandalism scattered here and there. The broken panes in the workshop windows from rocks being thrown through them; the one wall of the house was a slightly off shade of gray where Nathan had repainted to cover up some choice epithets that had been spray painted on it (you could still see them if you squinted hard enough and the light hit it just right); deep, jagged gouges sliced into the wooden fence like children’s scribbles running all up and down. It didn’t surprise Dr. Leuca that nearly all of the damage was where the property bordered the land that had been owned by the late Trevor LeBoare.

She strode with hurried steps along the gravel driveway, past the old Furcury and Hounda parked side by side, and up the stairs of the porch. She paused at the door, paws clenching and unclenching as she rethought and overthought what she could possibly say to excuse her delayed response to a patient in dire need. Dr. Leuca shook out her fur to shed some of the trepidation, tried to replace it in her mind with a bit of courage. This was no time to carry fear with her like a disease into a home that was already unwell. She raised one paw to knock while the other stowed the little box in her pocket.

 _You’ll help me, won’t you?_ she thought as footsteps drew nearer from the other side of the door. _Just this one last time…_

When the door swung inward, there was a much different mammal standing in the doorframe than the one that she was expecting.

“Kathleen?” Dr. Leuca took an unconscious step back from the glare that she earned just by being in the snow leopard’s presence.

Kathleen Hoarfrost had clearly seen a rough night. Her usually crisp clothes were wrinkled and pulled, hanging askew off of her. Dark stains beneath her eyes betrayed at least a few tears shed, and her whiskers had dents and crimps in them where she’d let them set in an awkward position for too long.

“Well.” Her voice fell flat, though her face had an ominously passionate expression on it. “Look what the cat dragged in. Where have you been?”

Dr. Leuca drew herself up and squared her shoulders, bracing against her former patient’s abrasive tone. “That is my business, and we can discuss aft—”

“Not a call, not a text, not a _word_.” Kathleen’s voice turned low and accusatory, and Dr. Leuca heard a rumble beginning to build. “Just a letter and then radio silence? You have some _nerve…_ ”

“Who is it, Kathy?” Nathan came up behind her, and his weary and intensely distraught face flooded with instant relief when he caught sight of the panda on his doorstep. “Oh, thank heaven.” If he noticed Kathleen’s unfriendly disposition he seemed set on ignoring it as he waved Dr. Leuca through the entrance and into the house. “Please come in, Doctor. Let’s talk in the kitchen for a minute if you don’t mind.”

“Of course. Thank you,” she said, skirting uneasily around Kathleen to follow Nathan down the hallway. Dr. Leuca could practically feel the stormy eyes boring holes into the back of her head.

The kitchen smelled like a restaurant, which seemed at odds with how immaculate it was. Dr. Leuca cast wide eyes around the almost staged space as her nose was bombarded by scents that had no source. Every surface was clean, every small appliance and pot and pan (of which there were many) set sparkling in their proper places. This was a room that had seen a disaster and was mercilessly brought back to order. A place that was usually homey and loving barely looked like it was lived in.

“Something to drink?” Dr. Leuca stopped looking about the kitchen to focus on the drained face and doleful golden eyes of the mammal who had asked the question. Nathan didn’t wait for an answer before pulling open the refrigerator door, revealing a wall of food containers piled inside. She stifled a sharp breath even as he stooped over the shelves and continued with the automatic pleasantries. “I have water, of course, and iced tea, orange juice, and—”

“Nathan.” He hung his head for a few seconds and when he turned Dr. Leuca was already at his side, eyes soft but firm on his. “There is no need for being polite.”

He heaved a heavy sigh and straightened himself back up as he closed the fridge again. “I know. I’m just… it’s just something I can actually do right now.”

“You must be very upset, and… I am sorry I make you wait…” A huff from the hallway grated in her ears as Kathleen came to join them in the kitchen also. Her stance remained combative, arms crossed and ears flat against her head. Dr. Leuca acknowledged the noise with an impassive glance before turning back to Nathan. “Probably is very difficult, but can you tell me first what happened?”

He scrunched up his face and hugged one arm around himself while he clasped his other paw behind his neck. “I couldn’t get a flight back on Friday, or Saturday morning. By the time I finally got into the city it was too late for the hospital to release Sam to me. I picked him up first thing Sunday morning and… I tried to talk to him all day but no matter what I said or asked he wouldn’t answer me. He would barely look at me…”

Nathan’s voice broke and he leaned against the refrigerator as he splayed his fingers over his eyes, trying to press the tears back. “When I signed him out the nurse said that he hardly had anything for breakfast, but I didn’t think anything of it at the time. I mean… it’s hospital food, right? Who wants hospital food? But he didn’t have lunch or dinner that night either. Monday started the same, and I confronted him about it, what could I cook him that he would eat?” He dropped his paw to join his other arm in hugging himself around his chest and turned his face down to stare at the wooden floor. “He said not to bother myself, that he was tired of tasting blood and he was done with it. Done with all of it.”

His shoulders shook as he looked at Dr. Leuca with heartbreak in his eyes. “Did I do this? Because I left?” Both she and Kathleen immediately responded with a variety of “no”s and “of course not”s, but he paid them no heed. “What’s _wrong_ with me? Why did I leave him here alone to get hurt like that? It seemed like he was doing so much better, I thought… he told me I could, didn’t he? He wasn’t up for the trip, but I could go? He said he’d be okay. I really… really thought he’d be okay.”

“And where is Sam now?” Dr. Leuca asked, trying to steer his attention back to the present and end the current conversation given how upset it was making him.

Nathan pointed up at the ceiling. “Upstairs, in the bedroom. He locked me out when I came down to make breakfast yesterday and… then he started praying and wouldn’t answer me. That damn door is such a beast, I couldn’t budge it and I didn’t know what else to do, so I…” He put his paw against the fridge, gave it a light pat. “I’m sure I was being irrational, but I just thought I could persuade him with his favorite meals. Every dish I ever made him that he… that he said he—”

“I understand,” she interrupted, again trying to keep him focused on action rather than on the emotional turmoil that kept cracking his normally strong voice. “Do you make anything that has broth, maybe? Soup? Stew?”

He blinked at the unexpected question. “Broth?”

“Yes. Fluids most important thing for him right now.”

“Oh… of course, right…” He opened the refrigerator again and considered the many containers, muttering under his breath for a few seconds before pulling out a large covered bowl. “Give me a minute.”

As Nathan started to fix up a bowl of something to satisfy Dr. Leuca’s request, Kathleen said, “I’m dying to know how you intend to get the door open long enough to do anything even remotely constructive with that food.”

“If goes well, Sam will open the door for me,” Dr. Leuca said evenly.

“We spent the entire night trying to talk him down.” Kathleen’s tail was flitting about in irritation, her face tightening under an imminent scowl. “ _We_ did. You know, the ones who stayed awake here with him? What can you possibly say to him that we haven’t said already?”

Her face was a portrait of anger and resentment, eyes narrow and reproachful. It was not a face she wore well, and it seemed to be further exhausting her to be so antagonistic toward one that she had once spoken to in confidence and trust. The trust was no longer present in her words, in her body language, in her eyes. The doctor that Kathleen saw before her was an enemy, a betrayer… a danger to a friend.

The panda shuffled her feet and looked away. “Well… then if goes poor, I am sure Nathan will understand if I force it open myself.”

“If you think you can,” he agreed in a gravelly monotone as he ladled a few scoops of now steaming liquid into a soup bowl. He dropped a spoon in and passed it to Dr. Leuca with a disappointed sniff. “Chicken and dumplings… I watered the gravy down some more.” He wrinkled his snout with disgust. “It’s going to taste awful.”

She accepted the hot bowl from him carefully. “Taste is no matter. Hungry enough, everything tastes good.” She set her bag and phone on the kitchen table. “I do not know how long will be or if successful, but I ask you step outside while I speak with him.”

Kathleen puffed her fur up. “What in the world for?”

“Sessions between me and my patients are private, as you know.” Dr. Leuca met her incensed glare straight on. “Sam is not able consent either of you be present, so you will leave. This is not negotiable.”

Nathan said, “That’s fine,” at the same time Kathleen said, “Absolutely not,” and she turned on him sharply in surprise. “Nathan!”

“I said it’s fine,” he repeated with some additional insistence and as she began to argue with him again he slammed his fist down on the table. Both she and Dr. Leuca startled and drew back from him; it was a miracle that the panda didn’t spill the bowl of food she held.

“ _Enough now, Kathy._ ” He waggled his finger back and forth between the two females, his voice harsh and strained through clenching teeth. “Whatever’s going on here, I don’t care. Whatever help he needs, in whatever form, from whatever source, _I do not care_. I don’t care how it happens. I don’t care who does it. I just want him to get through this. Do you?”

The last question he posed directly to Kathleen, and she seemed to shrink under it. “Of course I do.”

“Then let his doctor do her job.” He walked purposely past Dr. Leuca and waved the snow leopard along in front of him down the hallway, giving her no choice but to comply. “Let’s go. Some fresh air will probably do us both some good anyway.” He opened the front door and ushered Kathleen through, pausing to say, “Text me when we can come back,” over his shoulder before closing it behind him.

Dr. Leuca stood alone in the quiet kitchen and tried to come to grips with the position that she was now in. Was this the kind of reception she had to look forward to from the rest of her patients, also? How was she going to get through to them all in the little time she had left?

She walked down the hall to the stairway that led to the second-floor bedrooms, pausing for just a moment in the small foyer. A frown furrowed at her brow as she started up the steps. “You are next, Kathleen.”

The unsettling silence of the first floor began to give way to rhythmic, almost musical verses the further along the upstairs hall she went. Dr. Leuca noticed that the doors to the spare rooms and even the linen closet were all wide open; the master bedroom at the end of the hall was not, and from beyond the sound of Sam’s plaintive and continuous prayers could be heard.

“… help me glimpse your unending grace and see some hope in this bleak and desperate time…”

His voice sounded hollow and airy, though she wasn’t entirely certain how he still had any voice left at this point at all.

The door itself was a paw-made, old oak affair with wrought iron accents, thick and charming and rustic, and very much in her way. Dr. Leuca tried the knob first, and though it turned within her grasp the door itself still wouldn’t budge at all. Something was forcing it shut from the other side. Even though she made no effort to hide the fact that she was trying to enter, there was no change in the unbroken sentences from within.

“… and though I wander lost and confused now, I know that if I seek your light I will see my way through again…”

She gave a few solid knocks. “Sam? It is Dr. Leuca. I come to speak with you, please.”

All at once the praying ceased, and for a very long minute she could hear only the sound of shallow breathing on the other side of the door.

“God and Goddess, benevolent providers of all this world’s magnificence…” The prayers started back up, and seemed to take a firmer tone, as though it took some bit of convincing to continue them again.

Her spirits lifted a little at the pause; her voice had caught him off guard, and he considered it before resuming his destructive train of thought. The fact that it could be derailed at all gave her some bit of hope, and that little faith bolstered her voice with the kind of conviction she hadn’t heard in it for many days.

“I also bring some lunch Nathan makes for you. Please open the door so we can talk about—”

“I know what you’re doing.”

Her heart leapt. The first hurdle was past. Now to take advantage of his attention. “Well, I hope reason I come here is not surprise to you.”

“Please… please go away. You’re wasting your time.” His voice had sounded far away from her at first, but it was moving closer as he spoke.

“My time I have with you is never wasted, Sam.”

“You can’t change my mind.” Now it was just on the other side of the door.

Dr. Leuca put her paw up against the panels, let her long nails scratch lightly against it and hoped that he might infer her movements even if he couldn’t see them. “Remember I tell you: I do not change your mind. I only help you change it yourself.” She waited a few more seconds before pressing him again. “Will you let me see you? I like to see you when we talk.”

“No.” His voice was drawing away from her again. “No, just… just go away. Please.”

“I will not leave you.” She set the bowl carefully on the floor and put her claws around the hardware of the knob. “I prefer you let me in yourself, but will open this door without you if I must.”

Dr. Leuca waited for some minutes for a response, but none was offered. There was only quiet in the room now; no prayers, no words. Just the sound of breath and the gut-punching feeling of time running out.

“Okay then,” she said and dug her claws in around the knob with as much noise as possible. She was being a little dramatic about it, but sometimes theatrics were necessary to make her point. “What pity to destroy such a lovely door.”

“Wait, _what_?” No mistaking the alarm in his voice, the uneven and hurried steps on the other side. She stopped her poking and prodding upon hearing the response that she expected. “No, you can’t… I made it for Nate. You don’t have permission—”

“I certainly do. I ask him very specifically for this before I come up here.” She picked the bowl back up again. “Do you think is more important to him than you are? Your Nathan would ruin every beautiful thing you ever make for him if means he sees you again.”

“It’s ours… please don’t…”

“Open it and I will not have to.”

Dr. Leuca hated to do this; it was hardly fair, using everything that he’d ever told her—and she remembered all of it—to reach him, every sentence strategic, a new stepping stone forward. It was a cavernous chasm she was crossing with nothing but well-placed words, but she was making her way across now slowly but surely.

There was a long pause of heavy, rasping breaths; it sounded like even just that little bit of exertion had taken a lot from him. “If I let you in, you’ll force me—”

“I would never.” A lie; she would if necessary, but she was optimistic she wouldn’t have to. “I promise—no, _swear_ —I come no closer to you than you allow.”

An even longer pause. “Is anyone else with you?”

“Only me here.” Dr. Leuca winced to herself; she had left her phone downstairs, so even if he consented for them to be present she’d have to leave and risk losing her progress. She still thought it better to ask anyway. If he wanted either of them there, that was his right. “Do you want to see Nathan or Kathleen?”

“No… no, I don’t.”

There was a scraping sound against the wood on the other side, and Dr. Leuca’s breathing quickened eagerly. She forced herself to remain calm and standing firm where she was. She waited until the noises stopped, gave him time to settle into whatever spot he preferred to be in before she knocked softly again. “Sam?”

“Come in then.” An empty victory; he sounded so dismal at the prospect of her company and help. She took a deep breath and turned the knob.

The bedroom was quaint and orderly, though there were a few things that seemed out of place. The standing mirror in the corner had been turned around. There was nothing set out on the dresser or the nightstands, not even any picture frames. She wasn’t entirely surprised by this; a mammal that had set his mind to ending his time on this earth was not often inclined to want reminders present of what he was leaving behind. A heavy chair was overturned on its side just behind the door; it seemed that was what was blocking it originally, if the deep grooves in the wooden floor were any indication.

The word ‘brittle’ came to mind as she looked Sam over. His fur had started falling out in spots, and his face had become even more drawn and sunken. He’d always been on the leaner side, but now she could very easily count his ribs through the opening of the robe he wore. In his right paw he held his cane and was leaning so far over it Dr. Leuca thought it must be supporting nearly all of his weight. His left arm had been shaved up to the elbow, with gauze and medical tape wrapped around his wrist to cover the wounds that he’d cut in it. The red prayer beads stood out against the stark white dressings, and he worried them continuously between his fingers.

If he so much as sneezed she imagined he would shatter into a million pieces. It was a wonder that Sam had any strength left to stand, but that’s what he was doing. Standing on the right side of the room and looking out of the window at the bright sunny day and the cityscape of Zootopia on the horizon. Death’s cloying scent hung in the air, clung to the inside of her nostrils. She felt a shock of cold clamp around her heart.

He looked _ready_.

Dr. Leuca gulped hard to steady her voice and pointed to a spot at the foot of the neatly made bed. “May I sit?”

Sam waved his paw apathetically, maintaining his position at the window as she sat down right behind him. She noticed he was making it a point not to look at her directly and took that as her next challenge.

“I bring lunch for you.” Dr. Leuca lifted it toward him in invitation, though again he didn’t turn around. “Nathan said is ‘chicken and dumplings.’ Smells very good… you have some?”

Sam shook his head slowly. She brought the bowl to her face and blew over the rim as though to cool it, sending the scent throughout the room. Even if she could move no closer to him at the moment the smell of the food could, and she hoped that it would provide some additional bit of persuasion. At the very least it made his stomach growl loud enough for her to hear, and she noticed him licking his tongue up over his muzzle intermittently.

“Well, seems shame to waste,” Dr. Leuca continued, keeping her tone casual. She picked up the spoon. “I miss lunch myself. I can have some, maybe?”

His ears quirked at the strange request, a panda eating a meal meant for a wolf. He half turned, and though his eyes didn’t quite meet hers she could see a bit of confusion on his face. “It’s meat.”

“Yes, I know what chicken is,” she said lightly. “I like to try anyway. You tell me often Nathan is such good cook.”

“That he is,” Sam agreed with a sigh. He turned fully back to the window. “Knock yourself out.”

She had no intention of taking much from the bowl. Nathan was right; the gravy became bland and thin from the water he’d added, and though the scent was enticing the taste was stomach turning. But taste meant almost nothing to a starving animal; she knew this very well, after all.

“Mmm, delicious. Maybe I change my diet, have only this instead.” She put the spoon back into the bowl after managing to swallow another small piece of dumpling down and said, “Come, take some little bit.”

“I said I don’t want it.”

The kit gloves were coming off now; no more beating around the bush. “I think probably you do. Many days now you do not eat. You need food.” He redoubled his efforts not to look at Dr. Leuca directly, and in the faded reflection of the window she could see a face twisted with hopelessness. “Can you tell me why you do this to yourself?”

He steadied himself with a paw against the window frame. “I’m just doing what’s fair… since no one else will.”

“‘Fair?’” she repeated rhetorically. “There is no fairness in forfeiting your life. You serve yourself punishment you do not deserve. What happened to Trevor was not—”

“He’s dead,” he interrupted bitterly, and thumped the tip of his cane against the floor. “Because of me. It doesn’t matter how many times you say it’s not my fault. This is my new reality, and it’s… it’s more than I can bear.” He dropped his chin lower, gripped his cane tighter. “I can’t take it. It’s too much. I lost my soul; it’s gone, condemned forever, and I can’t even remember a minute of the reason why.”

A heavy silence settled between them, which Dr. Leuca decided to break pointedly. “If your gods would damn you for what happened to you, then they are not worthy of your devotion.” The reflection in the window was not at all accepting of such an irreverent statement, but she pressed on. “I tell you who I think is, though. Nathan and Kathleen, your family and your friends… they deserve your attention, your love. They need you to stay here with them. You try and leave a world that still needs you in it.”

His teeth clicked as he pressed his lips together tightly. “No… no, they don’t need a menace like me here. I’m a dangerous predator.” His head drooped until it almost touched his chest. “A bad wolf.”

“You are no bad wolf,” she said firmly. “Bad wolf is lie newspaper makes to sell copies. I remind you who you are since you forget. You are Samuel Wagner. You are good husband and friend. You volunteer and you guide the lost. You make with your own paws warmth for babies who come into this world unwell or unwanted. Whose mothers…” Dr. Leuca paused midsentence for a few breaths to keep her voice from breaking into jagged little shards. “…whose mothers could not or would not hold them. This first embrace they know in life is one that you made for them. This is who you are, and no one can ever take that from you.”

“Maybe that’s who I was once.” Sam’s voice fell into devastating despair. “I can’t be that anymore.”

“What makes you say this? We talk so long about—”

“ _I killed someone_.”

“YOU DID NOT.” Dr. Leuca’s admonition erupted unchecked from her mouth, and though she immediately regretted it, she didn’t regret the motion that it earned from Sam. His ears shot straight up and he turned far enough around to her now that she could lock eyes with him. She took full advantage and surged her argument forward. “You did not. The poison of some dozen nighthowlers soaked in psychotropic chemicals killed someone. You, Sam, were shot and muzzled and caged in the darkest corner of your mind. It takes all this for you to even raise a paw to one who has always attacked and hurt you.”

He blinked a few times, and then gave a wry half smile that looked like it hurt his face. “You sounded like Nate just then.” He tore his eyes away from hers and looked down at his paws set atop his cane. “I heard him when he was talking to his sister, you know. About coming to visit. He thought I was in bed, but I heard him arguing with her. She didn’t want me to come… only wanted to see him. I think she must have implied I could hurt her pups, because he just… _exploded._ His voice…” He gave a low whine at the memory. “Never heard that voice from him before. I never want to hear it again.

“Nate came to bed and I… I pretended I was sleeping so he wouldn’t know I heard everything. He fell asleep crying, and I was right next to him but it felt like we were miles apart.” Sam reached up to wipe the forming tears from his eyes with the heel of his paw. “I told him next day that the thought of flying made me sick and to just go have a good time without me. I thought I could save him from that conversation, and he seemed… so relieved. And I wanted him to be, but it still felt… it felt like someone reached inside and tore everything out of me. And he packed and he left and I was standing alone in this house and… filled up with so much sadness I thought I’d burst if I didn’t find some way to get it out.” He turned to her with eyes full of tears and shame. “I should have called you. The second I reached for the knife I should have called you, but I didn’t. And it didn’t work, either… it didn’t bring me any reprieve at all, just instant guilt because I promised Nate I would be okay, and I fell right off the wagon a few hours after he had gone.”

“Sam, listen to me.” Dr. Leuca held both her paws out to him, an almost pleading gesture. “Very common and completely understandable to have relapse at time of changed routine or stress. You are not first mammal to experience this.”

“You’ve said… and that was why I tried to get cleaned up and come to the N.I.T.E. session. I thought if I could just get there and I could be with friends, I could… I could talk to you and I could get through it.” The tears began to flow more freely down his cheeks, and he threw back his head as his voice increased in pitch and pace. “And then everything fell apart, and now I’m a murderer, and Nate had to come home early and know I screwed everything up.”

Dr. Leuca frowned even more deeply. “You absolutely did not—”

“He’s the best thing in my life, and all I keep doing is hurting him,” he said, sobs interrupting his words. “I’m tired of hurting him, Doctor. I can’t even contribute anything to this house; he has to hold everything up on his own. I can’t…” His shoulders slumped and he started to fold in on himself under the weight of his misery. “I can’t work. That’s why we moved here to begin with, and now I can’t even hold the tools to make anything anymore.” He clenched and unclenched his paw, looked at it with disgust. “I have no purpose, no skill, and a body I hate that doesn’t work right. I’m just a… just a burden on him.”

“If Nathan was hurt like you are and you needed to help him,” she asked, “would you consider him burden?”

Sam snapped his head up sharply. “Never!” He blinked, considering the immediate reflex response with indecision. “Never…”

“Then why you think this way about yourself?” He didn’t respond to her, though she could see the wheels starting to turn behind his dull eyes. “Is no burden to care for someone you love,” Dr. Leuca went on. “And maybe the work that once you do you cannot continue, but does not mean exists nothing you can do now. Maybe you no longer _do_ , but instead you _teach_. Maybe you _speak_ or _write._ You need purpose; we find you one. Something new. You need something.”

_FLASH! “You need someone.”_

Vincent’s words had her drawing a sharp, chilled breath into her lungs even as Sam replied, “How do I replace something that I loved so much with something else? It’ll never be the same.”

It would never be the same without Asher, no. How could she even consider it, the possibility of having someone take his place? Of having the kind of love and trust that they had shared? How? There was no one in the world that could replace him, as long as she lived. But why did she think that someone had to? Or even wanted to? Wouldn’t it be all right to have someone find a new place in her heart without thinking they would remove him from it in the process?

“No,” she said slowly, carefully, because she wasn’t speaking just to Sam now. “No, it will not. Will certainly be different, but can still be just as good.” Dr. Leuca’s words picked up speed, driven by new certainty. “Can still bring you joy. We spend much time together deciding you should continue on, but we did not have chance to find new way forward for you. Path you are set upon now leads only to end. Many different paths still are available to you if you choose to try.”

“Who would hire me? Who would work for me? Who would work _with_ me?” He shook his head. “I’ll just be the savage wolf forever. And I’m… I’m afraid. What if I hurt someone again? _God_ … what if I hurt Nate?” His voice turned into a whisper. “I can’t risk it. I’m not strong enough.”

“I will tell you about the strength you possess.” Dr. Leuca picked another piece of chicken from the bowl and popped it into her mouth. “You should be on your knees right now, yet you stand. Your body is dying; you should be unable to move, yet you rush to save a gift you made for the one you love.

“Every day you have choice, and every day you choose to bring goodness to the world. You think you are dangerous because Robert tells you that you are. But if you were not kept locked away by nighthowler, you never would have hurt Trevor. You are here now, and you are strong and good.”

Sam sighed. “I really wish I could believe that.”

“Hard to be convinced with only words, so I prove this to you. I show you.”

“I don’t see how you can.”

“No? I say already I have.” Dr. Leuca held the bowl up in front of her as he turned to her fully, his ears standing straight up with curiosity and bewilderment at her words. “You starve yourself in atonement. Voluntarily, you do this. Nathan and Kathleen do not know what it means to be starving, but _I do_.” He drew a loud whining gasp from the intimation, and she at last knew with absolute certainty she would be triumphant. “Yes, it is true. I tell you this so you know what I say is from experience. I know how it feels, how every tiny piece of you tears itself apart from the hunger. There is food here. You smell it and have made no move toward it. This is _your_ food, Sam. I am eating your food and you are _letting_ me. Do you think a beast does this? I will not say what a wild animal does when it is starving, but I will tell you what it does not do. _It does not share_.”

The window was forgotten and she was watching the fireworks go off in his eyes. Reconsidering, changing, deciding… and accepting new possibilities for itself. Dr. Leuca drove it all home, a small smile on her face.

“I will say again what I say before and hope this time you listen: You are good mammal. Gentle mammal. I am completely confident of this. And so is Nathan. So is Kathleen.”

Sam sank to his knees beneath heaving sobs. Dr. Leuca set the bowl aside on the bed and stood immediately, taking long, sure strides toward him. She put her paw around his back, lifted him beneath his arm, and led him to the foot of the bed. He sat on it heavily, his cane dropping to the floor and both paws now over his face. “S-sorry. I’m s-so sorry…”

Dr. Leuca picked up the bowl again and set herself beside him, pulled him in a sideways embrace, murmuring reassurances softly into his ear. “Shhhh, no sorry. No sorry, Sam. You are okay. I am proud of you. Was so hard to go through this, I know. Will be all right now.”

She held him until he’d cried himself out and the shuddering spasms began to subside, until the breaths were coming in deep and calm and drew her paw back. “How you are feeling?”

“Overwhelmed.” He swallowed a hiccup as he answered. “It still feels like too much. I can’t even… I can’t even think about what I want to do. It’s such a mess. It’s all a mess.”

“You think you need to decide everything right now. You do not need to do this. Only one thing need to decide right now.” She placed a tender paw on his shoulder and waited for him to turn his eyes toward her. “Do you want to keep trying?”

He screwed his face up in a sad, strangled expression, but still nodded. “I do. I do, I do. I just… don’t know where to start. Where do I start?”

Dr. Leuca placed the bowl in his paws with a calm smile. “I suggest start with lunch. Everything after will sort itself, if you are willing to give it time.”

Sam looked down at the food he held and picked up the spoon with some hesitation. “I feel like such a fool.”

“Not fool,” Dr. Leuca assured him. “Fool is unwilling to change or try.” Her smile deepened. “Maybe we start meal with prayer? I tell you one I like to hear most you say: ‘God and Goddess, today I have fallen short…’” She waited for him to join her so they could finish it together. “…today I fear I have failed, but I will not sorrow. I will pause a little while, my Lord and Lady, and try again tomorrow.’”

Now it was Sam’s turn to smile. “I like that one, too.”

The spoon was in motion, shoveling bite after bite into his mouth and he drank all the bland, watery gravy down gulping ravenously. The bowl was empty within minutes, and he gave a contented sigh at the end. “Wow, that was great. Everything Nate cooks always is. Well, you had some so you know now, right?” It was impossible, of course, but she swore his face looked fuller just then as he looked at her with bright, shining eyes. “Wasn't it just the best?”

“Yes, I agree,” she said, her paw wrapping around the box in her pocket. “The very best.”

It was a well known fact that hunger made an excellent spice, but nothing could flavor a plate quite like a bit of love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kathleen is _pissed_ , and I have a feeling that Vincent's about to be. We're turning the corner now, ladies and gents... and when you turn a corner, everything tends to change. ;)
> 
> Thoughts? Comments? Feedback? Drop me a line in the box below; I love hearing from you all. As always, thank you so much for reading! :D


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Leuca brings news of Sam's condition to Kathleen and Nathan while Dr. Buckner wraps up his conversation with Officer Hopps regarding the N.I.T.E. program's dubious management. With so many mammals still in so much pain, is there anything that they can do to ensure an open path forward to a brighter future?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY ANNIVERSARY, EVERYONE!
> 
> That's right... a year ago we started on this crazy roller coaster ride together. Oh, man, remember when I thought this was going to be 8 chapters? *hysterical laughter* Oh, boy, oh... those were the days.
> 
> (Re-uploaded this chapter due to technical issues that may have prevented subscription emails from being sent to you lovlies... seems I chose to post when AO3 was having a case of server hiccups. XD)
> 
> Anyway, to celebrate our time together, how about a new chapter? I think that's a good way to spend our anniversary. ;)
> 
> Enjoy!

Nathan and Kathleen were out of breath by the time they arrived back at the house. They hurried down the hall into the kitchen to find Dr. Leuca seated in the chair between the table and the wall with her cellphone in paw. The empty bowl was sitting innocently on the table in front of her. She stood up to greet them as they came through the doorway, a cautiously optimistic expression on her face.

“What happened?” Nathan was the first to recover his voice enough to speak. “Did you…? I mean, is he…?”

“He is resting peacefully now,” Dr. Leuca said, and her while her voice sounded calm her face was grave. “You must listen caref—”

She didn’t have the chance to continue her sentence; she was still high on the quiet elation that was filling her heart from her success upstairs that she didn’t perceive the presence of nearby danger. The yowling roar that sounded from so close by came as a complete surprise, and she only just caught the blurred movement of white and gray and black before she was pinned against the wall. Kathleen caught Dr. Leuca around her throat with one paw while the other drew back behind her in a position to strike. Her stomach curdled at the pressure that cinched her airway and the pinpricks jabbing at the skin beneath her fur.

These were no soft paws.

Nathan jumped back. “Kathy, what in the…!”

“She ate his food.” The accusation was snarled over bared fangs, every single syllable wrapped in venom and blazing hellfire. “I smell it. It’s on your breath.”

“ _Shared_ ,” Dr. Leuca croaked, and tried to squirm out from her grip but only succeeded in poking the claws in further. “We share… I never take from—”

“Did you just help yourself after he was gone?” Kathleen said, overriding the labored words with more snarling vitriol. “Did you smother him? Put him out of his misery, the sick predator? DID YOU??”

The very notion that Dr. Leuca would do such a thing to _anyone,_ never mind one of her patients, was outrageous, and a jolt of adrenaline spiked to reinforce her resentment at such an insult. She started to raise her arm, the massive boom with the violent strength to remove the threat before her… and then lowered it. How could she take that kind of action against someone in so much pain? She could see it in the glistening gray eyes; they were filled with anguish, crying out and calling her every harsh name. This was not the Kathleen that she knew so well, and Dr. Leuca wouldn’t see her replaced with such a wrathful mammal as this. She would not cause her injury and solidify the fury within her.

So, Dr. Leuca tore a page from Vincent Buckner’s book instead, stifled the fear as best she could, and stood still as a statue. She wished she could have mimicked the velveteen voice she remembered him using, though there was no way to smooth her words through her constricted airway.

“I know you have… such pain these past days, Kathleen,” she said, rasping, straining to pull in each tiny bit of breath. “Nearly you… lose good friend. You have every right… to be upset. But this you do now… this is not you.”

There was a tremor in Kathleen’s paw and the fierce look on her face wavered. “‘N-nearly’? He’s not…?”

“Your paws are not… meant to harm others,” Dr. Leuca continued, trying to take advantage of the hesitation she saw. “They hold chalk… dry tears… turn pages… and give and give. That is the you… Sam will want to see today. I know you are angry… but please think. Choose better path. Is this… who you want to be?”

The edges of her vision were blackening, the lack of air making Dr. Leuca lightheaded in the steely grip. Dark spots danced over the still tense face in front of her, and her arms became so heavy that even if she decided now to fight back she wasn’t sure she would be able to. Her strength was ebbing away as her lungs ached, screamed for the oxygen they were being denied.

Nathan came into view, put a gentle paw on the snow leopard’s raised arm. “Kathy, _stop._ ”

Kathleen blinked, realized with horror where her rage had put her, what it had driven her to. The grimace dropped from her muzzle as she sucked in a razor-sharp breath and drew her paw away from the panda’s neck immediately. Dr. Leuca staggered forward, clutched at the kitchen table and hunched over it coughing and gasping.

“I… I’m…” Kathleen’s eyes darted back and forth between Nathan and Dr. Leuca, then down at her still extended claws. She backed away until the hallway was beside her. “Excuse me,” she mumbled, and fled the kitchen. They heard the front door open and close abruptly.

Nathan took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Dr. Leuca had recovered enough to stop coughing and was now trying to swallow and rub the pain from her throat.

“Are you okay?” he asked her. She gave a few slow nods and straightened up with the help of the table and the chair back for some support. He looked toward the front entrance with a shake of his head. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her.”

“Think I do.” Dr. Leuca said, her voice still a little hoarse but regaining its normal vitality. “I will speak with her. Do not worry.”

Nathan flattened his ears, but still nodded in agreement as he leaned back against the table and crossed his arms. “Not that it’s an excuse for… _that_ ,” he said with a stiff general gesture of distaste, “but what you said made it sound like Sam died.”

“When do I say this?” Dr. Leuca said, bristling defensively. “I say he is resting! He eats and is calm, what I mean.”

He half turned his head toward her and raised an eyebrow. “‘Resting peacefully’ is another way to say ‘dead’.”

“Oh.” A twinge of embarrassment flicked her in the gut and she turned away, instead focusing on her paws gripped upon the chair back. “Please forgive me any stress I cause with poor words. I did not realize means this.”

“It’s fine.” Nathan put his head back, spoke his next words at the ceiling. “You know, I forget sometimes that we’re different.”

Dr. Leuca didn’t know quite what he meant or how to respond to it; it sounded like it could be insulting, but she didn’t know him to ever speak with the intention of being hurtful. She decided to make light of his statement with a short, rough laugh. “If you forget you are not panda, Nathan—”

“No, I mean… I forget you came here from somewhere else. That Zootopia wasn’t always your home. It just feels like you’ve always been here so…” He shrugged. “I forget sometimes, that’s all.”

It seemed funny to say, but at the same time Dr. Leuca couldn’t help but be warmed by it. She decided that it was a nice thing to forget.

His gaze shifted away from the ceiling and toward the hallway and the stairs. “He’s all right, then?”

She sighed. “Would not say so much, but better than he was. He should be at hospital, but I know he does not feel safe there.” Dr. Leuca took a few steps toward Nathan, placed herself beside him with a sobering look even as he continued to stare toward the place that he wished to be. “You must listen carefully. Still difficult time now. He will probably be sick tonight. This is normal. Do not overfeed. You will want to, but is very dangerous. Give tiny meals, like you would a pup, every few hours. Keep him well hydrated. After few days, you can begin to increase portion size, and then back to normal.”

“Small meals, lots of water, keep a bucket nearby. Got it.” Nathan summed up her instructions adequately but still with a distracted monotone. The bushy black tail had started to wag very slightly from side to side, his mind obviously already upstairs. “Can I see him?”

“I think he will want that, yes,” she said, and couldn’t help but give a small smile at the increased tail-wagging, the audible _thump thump thump_ against the leg of the table, the soft face lighting up. “Please be gentle and positive. He should rest as much as possible and will need your support.”

Dr. Leuca considered the road ahead for the couple, the path that they were being forced to walk again, that they had thought was finally behind them. Her smile waned in spite of her best efforts to keep the worry off her face. “I am sorry but think probably you must go back to beginning. He cannot stay alone, no closed doors. Do you remember?”

The wagging stopped, and his ears pinned back in frustration, the soft face tightening. “Yeah, I remember.” He wrinkled his muzzle and showed his teeth for a brief moment to the air before shaking his fur out to calm himself again. “It’s discouraging that all his progress was ruined.”

“Do not be disappointed. Remember, he comes so far once. He will do again. Very sure of this.” She pulled her purse toward her over the table and tucked her phone into it as she put her arm through the strap. “Resume his therapy when he is ready.”

“Speaking of his therapy…”

Nathan reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a half-folded, torn-open envelope. Dr. Leuca recognized it as the referral that she had mailed last weekend.

“As far as I’m concerned, this never happened.” He put it up between his fingers as though to tear it in half, but the panda reached out and sandwiched his paws between hers before he could follow through.

“No,” she said firmly. “Do not destroy. You will need this information for new doctor.”

Dr. Leuca could see his hackles raising as Nathan pushed off the table and rounded on her fully, drawing his paws back from hers. “You can’t be serious.”

“I choose her carefully,” she explained, and gave a hard tug at her ear to squelch the ringing that was starting to rise. “Dr. Clawson very experienced, kind and patient. He will respond well to her. She will help him reach his goals, I am certain.”

His face darkened, and he motioned at her with the envelope emphatically. “If you think I’m switching him to a different therapist after this—”

“Nathan, I am leaving Zootopia.”

He stopped, mouth hanging open, blinking in the face of her statement like he was staring down an incoming fireball. “What?”

Dr. Leuca nodded once, solemnly. “Yes. I must leave, return to my own country.”

“Wh-why?” The golden eyes were searching her face, trying to find something that was beyond his sight. “Is it because of what happened at the session?”

“No, no… is personal and unavoidable. No one’s fault. I already tell Sam this also, so you can discuss with him. Not a secret.” She turned toward the hallway, ready to move on to the next conversation she knew was coming. “This is good thing. You must frame as such. I realize transition can be hard, but he will do well with her.”

Nathan sighed and gave the envelope a hard glare before setting it on the table. “Well, I guess we have no choice.” He added with some bit of audible bite in his voice, “I don’t like it, though. Just so we’re clear.”

“Yes,” Dr. Leuca said under her breath, and started down the hall. “Neither do I.”

“Hold on.” She felt his paw curl around her arm and gave a small flinch but turned back to him with a neutral face. Nathan was reaching into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. “We owe you so much more than this, but…”

“Put it away,” she said, and shook him off. “I will not accept payment for situation I cause you.” Dr. Leuca put up her paw to stop the argument forming on his tongue. “I say again no. End of discussion. Put away now.”

He returned his wallet to his pocket with extreme reluctance and followed behind her as she again started toward the front door. “How about something to eat, then?” he suggested hopefully just as she gripped the knob. “I don’t know if anything in the fridge would appeal to you, but I made so much and it’s mostly going to get tossed. I’d like to see some of it actually get eaten.”

Dr. Leuca paused, put her paw against her pocket, closed it briefly around the outline of what was inside. “I wonder if maybe you make any bit of fish I can take with me?” She added inwardly, _To share with a friend…_

Nathan’s face brightened. “I have just the thing,” he said, and hurried back to the kitchen. He returned a minute later and handed her a nicely folded piece of parchment paper wrapped around a very thick steak of fish. “Now this is actually worth a taste. Not like that gruel from before.”

Dr. Leuca smiled. “Was delicious. You ask Sam; he will tell you was just what he needed.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Nathan said, putting his foot up on the first stair and taking hold of the banister. “There are other things I’d rather we talk about, honestly.”

“Yes, I imagine so.”

“Would you have Kathleen come inside and rest when you two are done?” he asked. “I don’t think she slept at all, even when it was her turn. I don’t want her driving. Tell her we’ll have that dinner we missed last night when we wake up. All of us. Together.”

“I will.” She took the knob in her paw again and turned her face away before she started to tear up. It was the last time she would see him, after all. “Take care, Nathan.”

“You too, Dr. Leuca. And thanks… for everything.”

“Of course. My pleasure.”

He began to climb the stairs as she opened the door and stepped blinking out onto the front porch, into the bright sunlight to join the mammal waiting for her there.

*****

Nathan Wagner ascended the stairs much slower than he wanted, his speed at odds completely with what his heart demanded of him. He was still shaken, his legs still weak from the fright. If Kathleen hadn’t reacted as she had, he would probably still have been a weeping mess on the floor of his kitchen.

It was a moment that lasted an eternity, the misunderstanding that wasn’t only Kathleen’s. For that moment, he’d lost the most precious mammal in his life… and for that moment he wished he had remained in a state of hoping but not knowing. The miracle still seemed so unreal; Nathan feared that he would find it was all just another mistake he had made and the delicate bubble that was his hope would burst the second he laid eyes on his mate again.

The hallway seemed so long, so dark approaching the bedroom, but at the end of it there was light. The door was open and each step was bringing him closer and closer to seeing him again, to hearing him again, to holding him again.

Nathan was at the doorway, standing frozen and staring at the figure lying face up on their bed, paws folded neatly on his chest, the very picture of serene repose. Even though he knew for a fact that this was how Sam usually slept and even though he could hear each breath and see his chest rising and falling in steady rhythm as it normally would, Nathan’s mind was building a pine box around him, laying his head upon silken pillows, surrounding him with white lilies and gladiolas as a hymn rose in the background.

He steadied himself against the doorframe as a clipped, high-pitched whimper escaped his throat. The paw he put to his muzzle couldn’t call it back, and Sam’s ears swiveled in his direction, eyes snapped open and suddenly the casket dissolved into dust.

“Hey, Sammy,” Nathan managed to say through the clicking at the back of his throat, swallowing the sorrow and the relief to allow coherent words to form. “I’m sorry if I woke you, I just… I just wanted to…”

And his next words, whatever they would have been, were abandoned to the fractured light shining in Sam’s eyes, like broken stained glass windows, every shade and every color. He’d turned, was reaching out toward Nathan, and at last the floorboards released him from their grip. He threw himself forward, careened into those open, waiting arms with every suppressed whimper and whine rising up and out from the deepest recesses of his aching heart. A rain of kisses descended upon the gray head between quiet sobs.

“ _Thank God_ you’re all right,” Nathan said when finally he’d caught his breath again. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

“I’m sorry,” was the quiet response that came whispered into his chest. “I got lost.”

“Shhh, it’s okay.” Another kiss between Sam’s folded ears. “It’s going to be okay now. I won’t let you get lost again.”

For a few minutes there was quiet, nothing but breath and heartbeats and the occasional sniffle between them.

“She’s leaving, Nate.”

The words came low and filled with uncertainty, and Nathan’s face contorted against them. “I know.”

“What are we going to do?” Sam’s voice wobbled and quivered, and it was all that Nathan could do to brace up his own, to try and override the fret with an assurance that he himself did not feel inside at all.

“What we always do. We’re going to find our way and make it work. We’ve done it before; we’ll do it again. We can do anything, as long as we’re together.”

The arms around Nathan’s chest squeezed a little tighter. “Together…”

“That’s right.” He breathed a deep sigh into the fur atop Sam’s head. “I missed you, pup.”

“I missed you, too.”

It was too much, Nathan was too relieved, too feverishly ecstatic. Of course he didn’t mean to (wolves never did, after all), but he was filling with so much, with too much to keep it bottled inside, it had to be shared, to be shown, to be heard. So he tipped his head back and made the most joyful noise. And oh, the thrill, the delight when Sam joined him, their howls mingling and entwining sent shivers up and down his spine.

They heralded their triumph over the trial that threatened to tear them apart to the Meadowlands. And when they had both worn their voices thin and they’d been reduced to light-headed giddiness, they settled into the warm embrace, nuzzling and inhaling each other’s scent until it sent them off to blissful sleep.

*****

Kathleen Hoarfrost was still sitting on the porch steps, staring at her paw as she extended and then retracted her claws over and over again when she heard Dr. Leuca close the door behind her. She came forward slowly, and Kathleen pulled her jacket tighter around herself even though she was still blazing hot inside, not with anger now but with embarrassment.

“I’d understand if you wanted to press charges,” she murmured, hunching forward as she drew her knees up and beneath her arms, hugged them into her chest like she used to do when she was a cub.

“Can see no good to come of that.” Dr. Leuca stepped up just beside Kathleen at the top of the stairs and stared out at the Meadowlands. “Nathan explains your reaction to what I say. My words chosen poorly. Sam will be all right, and I am sorry to give you scare.”

Kathleen huffed into her sleeves. “You could have called me a cave dwelling ghost cat, and that still wouldn’t have been a reason to… do what I did.”

There was an awkward silence as a gentle breeze blew around them and rustled the leaves of the few trees nearby.

Eventually, Dr. Leuca asked, “May I sit with you a while?”

“I don’t see why you would want to,” Kathleen replied sullenly, but she still edged over to allow the panda a place on the step beside her.

Dr. Leuca sat down and set her bag and the food down at her feet. “Thinking perhaps you may need little talk.”

The snow leopard gave a sudden inhale that ended in a wide-mouthed yawn. She rubbed her eyes, blinking through the exhaustion. “What I need is sleep.”

“Well, that probably will help, too,” Dr. Leuca allowed. “Nathan says you come inside to rest. Join them for dinner when you are all awake again.”

“Much as I’d like that, I wouldn’t want to impose. They should have privacy.”

“They could choose this, yes, but I think they prefer have their friend with them tonight instead.”

Kathleen slumped her shoulders and rested her head on her crossed arms set atop her knees. “I almost did something terrible in their house. How could they want me to stay?”

“Anger sometimes makes us do things we do not know we are capable of. Still you are you, in the end. Better it was here and was me, than somewhere and someone else.” Dr. Leuca turned to look at Kathleen and asked, “Did it make you feel better?”

“No,” she answered, her voice barely a whisper. “No, I feel awful. I’m still shaking, look.” She held out a trembling paw in demonstration before tucking it back under her arm again. “I can’t believe I did that. I don’t know what came over me.”

“You create enemy where there is none. Such thing can happen when mind is clouded by anger. It takes so much away, gives back almost nothing. If you let it take root in you, if you let it build and grow… it can become you.” Dr. Leuca leaned forward, locked her eyes on Kathleen’s downturned ones. “I say again what I say before: you are too good. You do too much good to let this happen.”

Just as she finished saying those words, from somewhere behind and above them there rose the soulful, joyous sound of howling. Both Dr. Leuca and Kathleen lifted their heads and their ears to hear the deeply emotional, touching voices singing their poignant declaration up into the air.

“Listen to them.” Kathleen closed her eyes, basking in the audible warmth of the two wolves that were her friends. “Do you know how long it’s been since either of them have done that?”

“I can only imagine,” Dr. Leuca said as their howls lessened and lowered and faded to quiet once more. It was probably close to a year, at the very least.

Kathleen laid her ears back again and gave a sudden, horribly harsh laugh. “It’s ridiculously unfair, isn’t it? This happened to them? Of all mammals, that it had to happen to them?”

Dr. Leuca laid her ears back also, sat upright and made sure her whole body was tuned to her patient and her words.

“It’s just stupid luck,” Kathleen continued. “We didn’t ask to be what we are, born this way. It just… we just are what we are. And you are what you are, and Robert is what he is… and it’s all just random, stupid, dumb luck.”

She maintained a strong voice, but that didn’t stop the tears from pooling in the corners of her eyes. “I mean… I could have torn him apart. My student. He was just a… just a child. I could have… I could have, and it was just lucky that I didn’t. A stupid dosing error saved me from all this. And I feel disgusting when I think how thankful I am for that.”

Kathleen turned to Dr. Leuca, the tears breaking and running down her cheeks. “Is that a horrible thing to feel? To be glad that it’s not me?”

“Normal thing to feel,” Dr. Leuca assured her. “Do you think to be grateful for good fortune automatically means you feel less for those without same?”

“No, I guess not.” Kathleen tilted her head back as though that would keep the tears in. “Why did it have to be Sam? Why did it have to happen to him, to them?”

She threw her head forward suddenly, made Dr. Leuca jump as she screamed out at the Meadowlands, “Why?! Why them?! It’s not rutting right! It’s not fair! Whhyyyy?!”

Her voice echoed over the fields before them and faded away as Kathleen heaved ragged, exhausted, sobbing breaths. She buried her face in her arms, murmuring, “It’s not… it just isn’t. Why are there still mammals like _her_? Why is it still like this…?”

Dr. Leuca put a gentle paw on the snow leopard’s shoulder. “Big question, Kathleen. I wish I have answer for you… I do not know anyone has that answer.”

“I know. It’s just… it just hurts.” Kathleen took two deep, steadying breaths to quell the sobs and picked her head up. She wiped her face with her sleeves and said, “I just wish it were different.”

Dr. Leuca pulled her paw back and spun the fabric of her skirt around her, to hug closer around her legs. “You know, where I come from, not very long ago, we could not do this. Just sit together and talk. Great divide still between predator and prey, in many places. Should not be this way. But see, it can improve. Takes time, takes effort, but can happen. It _is_ happening, and it happens because mammals like you.” She was heartened to see Kathleen’s ears perk up as she turned her eyes in the panda’s direction. “And that is something to take to heart. Yes, maybe always will be Roberts and Trevors and Dawn Bellwethers, but they cannot endure if there is also in the world Kathleens and Sams and Nathans.”

“… and Dr. Leucas?”

Dr. Leuca snapped her head around to find Kathleen’s gray eyes waiting for her. It was a shy addition, a quiet one, but still it held such power, the power to build in the instant it was uttered a profound confidence and pride in the one it was spoken to.

She couldn’t keep the smile down; she didn’t even try. “Yes… that too.”

Kathleen’s face turned from soft to earnest to pleading the very next second as she said, “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry for everything I said to you, what I did.” She clasped her paws, wrung them together. “Please don’t transfer me. I can’t imagine doing this… having my therapy with someone else.”

Dr. Leuca’s smile ran away as an apologetic look took its place on her brow instead. “Nothing you said or did is reason I send you referral, Kathleen.” She sighed heavily. “Fact is I must leave Zootopia soon, and I want you have good care to continue progress. Is a hard thing, I know… but you are strong. You have support, good friends to help you, and very knowledgeable new doctor. He will help you stay on your path. You do not need me in particular. I believe you will reach your goals with him.”

A strangely calm quiet followed Dr. Leuca’s words for a time, and when she dared to look back at Kathleen again only found her staring at her paws, deep in contemplation, wrestling internally with thoughts and deliberations that she wasn’t privy to.

“I… I don’t necessarily doubt it,” Kathleen decided to say eventually, “but I just wish you’d be here when I do.”

“Yes…” Dr. Leuca said softly. “So do I.” She rose to her feet and picked her bag and the package of fish back up again. “I am afraid I have no more time left to spend with you. I think now you go rest. You will feel better when you wake, have good food with good friends.”

Kathleen got to her feet also, although her movement was much slower, much more labored. She cut another yawn short behind her paw. “That will be a nice thing to wake up to.” She turned to walk back to the front door of the house, pausing to look at Dr. Leuca one last time just as she turned the knob. “I don’t remember if I ever said thank you for… well, for everything you ever did to help me, so… thank you.”

Dr. Leuca smiled. “Of course… this is why I am here, after all.”

“Goodbye, Doctor.”

“Goodbye, Kathleen. Take care.”

She stood on the step until Kathleen had slipped back inside and the door closed behind her. It was hard to say what Dr. Leuca was feeling as she climbed down the stairs and left her patients for what she knew would be the last time, but it wasn’t such a bad feeling. There was a certain peace to be felt in knowing that, even though she wouldn’t be there to see the end of their journey, that they would still be continuing it. That the path they walked she had helped set them on. That was a powerfully positive thing… and she was glad to feel that now as she walked along the road, searching for the right place to have one final talk with someone that she hadn’t spoken to in a very, very long time.

*****

There was a fork just a little way down from the bus stop, where a small ash tree and a rustic wooden signpost marked where each dusty path would lead. One road led to the Rainforest District, another led to The Canals, and yet another led to Tundratown. This was where Melanie set her purse down and dug the box from her pocket.

She looked around at the spot she chose with an approving hum. “This is nice place, yes?” she asked aloud, and set the box in the patch of grass at the base of the tree as she knelt before it. “Pretty, sunny… and look, you can see our homes.” She pointed. “There, the mountain. And there… there, the forest. Yes, I think this will be perfect spot.”

The parchment paper crinkled as she unwrapped the filet that Nathan gave her and placed it beside the box in the grass. Melanie sliced it in half with her claw, left the one piece on the parchment and picked the other up for herself. The sweet, smoky scent wafted to her nose and made her mouth water immediately.

“Little piece for you, little piece for me. Like always.”

She lifted her portion up in a subtle salute and took a bite. Nathan wasn’t kidding; maybe it was no bamboo stalk, but this was still a far cry from the butchered meal he gave her before. Two bites more and it was gone. Melanie licked her paws clean and sat back on her heels as she stared out over the wide-open fields, watching the shadows of clouds zoom along on the grassy ground. The silence continued for an awkwardly long time before she decided to fill it.

“Been long since we talk,” she said, her voice soft as the breeze, and brought her gaze back to the box. “I speak Common well now, yes? Always I can do better, but I keep trying.”

The ringing wail began to rise, her heart thundering in anticipation of all the things that she wanted to say, that she never said, that she lost her chance to tell him.

“I never thank you for… everything you ever do for me. Know how grateful I am. I am so grateful.” The image of the box turned wavy through the pooling tears and Melanie bowed forward over her clasped paws. She blinked her eyes clear, her voice still holding steady somehow. “Because everything I am now think I could never have been if I did not know you. Think I save a life today, and if there was no you I would not be here to do that.”

Melanie sat back on her heels again and dug a shaky paw into the grass, down into the rich black soil, shoveled a small hole until she reached the tree roots. She picked the box up in her paws, felt over each dent and crack and scratch, studied each tiny stain and mark once more, before planting a light kiss on the lid.

“This is so hard… hardest thing ever I do. Wish so much you were here… but you are not. And after so long I must… I…”

Everything hurt. It felt like even her clothes hurt, and it would have been easier to stop now and continue as she always had, fall back on old routines and habits and means of getting by. Those were all monsters she knew, and knew how to avoid and to deflect and to appease. But they were always still there. At the end of every day, when she put her head down, they would always be there. Unless…

Unless this time she chose a different path away from them.

Her voice pitched higher, quickened in pace with her heartbeat, almost pleading. “Asher, no matter how far away I run, still I am bound to that night in the forest. It is like I carry it with me… like I carry you with me. It is too heavy, and I must put it down now.”

Melanie placed the box into the hole she dug. It was a long while before she let go, and when she finally drew her paw back it felt like she’d torn a piece of her palm off, her fingers clenching and grasping and spasming from parting with him. She hugged her arms around herself, tried to hold still the tremors and shudders that were threatening to break her down again.

“I will love you forever. I will miss you forever. No one will ever take your place, but I need… someone.” The word sounded foreboding, a shapeless, shadowy outline in the distance that she didn’t know and yet she was preparing to march toward. “I need someone to know me, like you knew me. I need to know them, like I knew you. I need… I need this, and it is time to find a path toward it. I do not know who will be, but… I cannot be alone anymore. You understand this, yes? You understand?”

The next few seconds ran together, hurried action, movement without thought, because her thoughts would surely undo the headway she had made. Movement that pushed the loose dirt into the hole, filled in around its new occupant, and replaced the patch of grass, pressed it firmly back where she’d pulled it from.

She folded forward and put her forehead to the grass, let the tears soak into the earth as she whispered, “Please understand.”

The silent rain fell from her eyes until there wasn’t any more left in her. When at last the internal squall had passed, Melanie rose to stand on shaky legs and dusted the bits of grass and soil from off of her skirt, from off her paws, and picked her bag up again.

“You stay here in this beautiful place, between the forest and the mountain. I have to go away for little while, but I know if you are here then…” She took a deep breath to firm the words, to own them, and to believe them. “…then I will find my way back someday.” She gave the tree a light pat and gentle caress. “Goodbye, my friend. Rest well, until we meet again.”

The first step away was the hardest, the slowest, the wariest. Ached the most, needed the most concentration to keep moving forward and not look back. But the second… the second was decidedly less so. Each thereafter became less and less hesitant, until her gait was almost ordinary again. Until the mammals that she passed on the way to the subway couldn’t possibly tell what terrible—and wonderful—thing that she’d just managed to do.

Melanie took out her cellphone as she regained her stride. She scrolled down the list of names, decided on one, and hit speed dial. There was work still to be done, and little time left to do it.

A weary sounding voice answered. <Hello?>

“Hello, Helen? It is Dr. Leuca.” She picked up the pace, hustling to make it to the next train, the next appointment, the next patient. “Gotten your message, and if you have few minutes to talk I wanted discuss referral you receive from me…”

*****

Dr. Buckner was convinced that steam was rising out of his ears; he couldn’t remember the last time he was so furious.

<Doctor?> Officer Hopps’ voice reminded him that they hadn’t concluded their phone call just yet. <Are you still there?>

“Yes, I’m sorry, I just…” He picked his glasses off his snout and pressed the back of his hoof hard against his closed eyelid in one fluid motion. “I can’t find the words to express how appalled I am.”

<The feeling is mutual.> Officer Hopps said soberly. <Now, here’s the million-buck question: what do we do with this information?>

“I was really all for letting the damn program end, but now…” Now? Now it felt as though he were torn in two. What was the appropriate way to regard the thing that had kept Melanie in Zootopia, that at the same time had treated her—treated all of them—so shamefully? “But I imagine that’s irrelevant. I’m inclined to believe you’re already of a particular opinion.”

<Well, yes… although, even if N.I.T.E. wasn’t on the chopping block, I still wouldn’t want it to continue like this. It’s just… not right, is it?>

“No,” he agreed dismally, and replaced his glasses back on his face. “Not at all.”

<All the same, it did a lot of good while it was running. And to let the program terminate when there’s nothing to replace it creates a void that we’ve acknowledged needs to be filled. Too many mammals will be hurt, and there’s been enough of that. I’d like to ensure that the progress everyone saw this past year isn’t lost just because some politicians couldn’t balance a budget.> She turned her voice lower, an almost conspiratorial tone. <Listen, I think we can do better. We can do so much better if we work together. If we _all_ work together. You, me, the counselors… and the patients, too. >

The temptation to set ethics aside was growing, but he couldn’t deviate from confidentiality regulations… even if it was an officer of the ZPD requesting he do so. “Look, I want to help—” _God save me, I really do._ “—but I still can’t give you confidential patient information.”

<Just see if you can get it. If I have your support, I don’t need to see any of it. My partner’s meeting me Downtown at Sprouts Café in a bit. Do you know where it is?>

Dr. Buckner considered the location just down the block from Little Rodentia, an eatery that catered mostly to small and medium-sized prey mammals. It would probably be a tight fit, but the ceiling should still be high enough for him, antlers and all. “Yes.”

<Come join us there when you know, one way or the other. Whatever we have to work with, we’ll make a plan.>

He was about to agree, to jump at the chance to fix the bleak situation that so many—one in particular—had found themselves in, but the words stuck to his tongue. The proposition that he was even slightly suited for the task set before him was ludicrous.

He was a poor substitute for her.

“You really should be pulling Dr. Leuca into this discussion,” Dr. Buckner finally said after one too many heartbeats had pounded in his ears. “I don’t think any counselor in this city is more passionate about this than she is.”

A deep sigh. <Honestly? That’s the reason I’d rather not. She stands to lose the most of anyone if this all goes belly-up. I’m not about to raise someone’s hopes unless I’m prepared to deliver results, and I’m not. Are you?>

“No.” _Not yet._ He stood from his chair, now eager to get moving, to put in motion what he hoped would be the machinations of some small redemption, as self-indulgent a thought as that might be. “I’ll be on my way, then.”

<Great. Thanks, Doctor, for agreeing to help. I appreciate it.>

“I appreciate the opportunity to be of some service.” _…considering the recent black mark on my record._ “Hopefully, I’ll have some good news to share in just a bit.”

<I look forward to it. See you soon.>

Dr. Buckner hung up the phone deliberately, slowly, and rubbed the bridge of his snout to try and ease the building ache in his head. Too many thoughts burrowing into his brain, too many of them distressing. His hoof moved to the bottom drawer of his desk almost unconsciously, wrapped for just a moment around the bottle inside, and then drew back again as though he'd been burned.

 _No._ He slammed the drawer shut again. _Not now._

Dr. Buckner checked his watch for the time and immediately set off, navigating around the boxes and piles of folders on the floor of his office. He grabbed his jacket from the hook on the wall and headed for the waiting room. Sadie was in the middle of what looked like a packed lunch when he came up to her desk.

“Do you still have the login ID and password for the N.I.T.E. resource site?” he asked abruptly.

She looked up at him mid-chew, a neutral expression on her face but ears that immediately tucked back in annoyance. “Can I finish my food, or do you need this right now?”

“Right now, Sadie.” He drew himself back, eased the tension out of his tone, and added, “If you could, please.”

She swallowed whatever she had been in the middle of eating and turned to her computer. It certainly seemed a strange request coming from the mammal who had no love to spare for the N.I.T.E. program, but it was a simple enough thing to look up. Managing the administrative workings of his office meant keeping such information organized and easy to find. It didn’t take long, though there didn’t seem to be much use for it.

“The site doesn’t appear to be active anymore,” she told him after the third attempt to log in using Dr. Buckner’s assigned credentials had failed. To her surprise, he actually seemed put out by that news. Almost… disappointed.

“I see.” He ran a hoof through the mane of fur around his neck and sighed. “Well, thank you for checking,” he added as he started to put his arms through his jacket sleeves and turned away. “Enjoy the rest of your lunch.”

Sadie was inclined to end the request there, if for no other reason than to resume her meal in peace, but something about the look on his face—a kind of demoralization she was more accustomed to seeing in his patients than him—compelled her to ask, “Was there something in particular you were looking for?”

Dr. Buckner straightened his collar with a sideways glance back at her. “Just wondered how many mammals were still attending sessions at the end, is all,” he said, a bit evasively. “A curiosity.”

She bit at her lip for a few seconds in contemplation and said, “I could give you an email list.” His ears shot up in attentive interest, another look that she wasn’t at all used to seeing, and she felt an uneasiness jab at her stomach that an explanation might be warranted why she’d have such information. “I sent out the reminder emails for a couple of months just, you know, to help out. They got short-staffed when school let out, lost some volunteers to summer jobs. It’s not like you could really tell who has what email, and it’s a couple of months out of date probably, but if you’re just looking for numbers, maybe that would help?”

He gave her a satisfied sort of smile. “That would be perfect, Sadie. Will you send a copy to my computer when you have a moment?” He turned on his heels, taking long, determined strides toward the exit. “I’ll be back in a little while.”

“Where are you going?”

Dr. Buckner stopped with the door halfway open. “I have to head out for a… consultation with the police.”

Sadie’s ears flattened even further. “Been a long time since you’ve done one of those. Everything okay?”

“I can’t say for sure at the moment, but… I’m hoping that it will be.” He opened the door fully. “Just lock up if I’m not back before you leave.”

“Yes, sir.” She realized and called after him, “Oh, what about the…?”

Too late; he’d already bolted out of sight.

“Files,” she finished to herself, twitching her whiskers in irritation and a little wariness. It was a peculiar conversation with a peculiar conclusion, and while it all seemed innocuous enough she couldn’t help but regard the exchange with some bit of concern.

She finished the last of her leftovers and got up from the front desk to see about the boxes of medical records that she’d set out for him. If there was a possibility that he wasn’t going to be returning to the office today, then it wouldn’t do to leave all that confidential information just laying about, no matter how strong the locks on the front door were.

Sadie came up to the doorway of his office and stopped short with a horrified cry when she saw the state of the archives that were now strewn all over the room. She scanned over the extent of the disorder, drank it all in, and then rolled up her sleeves with a glowering huff as she set to work.

Days like this it felt like she was taking care of four children rather than just the three waiting for her at home.

*****

Vincent walked with hurried steps toward the heart of Downtown Zootopia. The subway and bus stops wouldn’t bring him any closer to the restaurant than walking would, and he wasn’t keen on relinquishing his parking spot this late in the day. It was just as well he hoof it to meet Officer Hopps at this point, anyhow. It would allow him some time to digest what she’d told him and gather his thoughts, which were scattered everywhere.

He’d been so close, so many times. He could just about pinpoint the moments in multiple of their sessions when he nearly had Melanie figured out… and all the sidesteps and evasions that she’d taken to redirect him, to avoid him, to refocus him back on the very thing that she’d been convinced was her only means of being allowed to stay in Zootopia. No, not convinced. _Coerced._

It was no wonder she persisted in their sessions, in continuing to bounce her methods off of him. Of course she had no time to invest in her own development. Every minute she spent working to keep the N.I.T.E. program in operation, to ensure it stayed relevant and beneficial for the mammals that needed it, yes, but also because it was the very thing keeping her here.

Vincent couldn’t fathom it. She must have been exhausted focusing so much energy, such constant attention on this fragile construct, this floundering program that was failing from the moment it was instituted. To keep it going because without it, she’d lose what had become her home.

 _Damn it all, Melanie,_ he thought, a deep frown forming on his forehead and a low grunt escaping his lips as he crossed the street. _Why didn’t you just tell me any of this?_

He paused a moment against the side of a building, breathing hard, winded from the rushing pace he’d chosen but also from a sudden ache in his chest caused by the internal objection that followed. _Why would she? When did you ever give her a reason to trust you with that knowledge?_

Vincent grimaced to himself. The answer was ‘never’. All their conversational games, dancing around what he wanted her to tell him and what she deemed more important to discuss. Every dialogue about her patients laced with criticism for their actions, the situations that they’d found themselves in. The judgements aimed at those who were different from him and thus unworthy of his time and his expertise. Why would a desperate, recently migrated mammal trust him with the very information that might turn such a harsh gaze on her, also?

He resumed his trek, a flood of resolve filling all the tiny cracks in his brain. He’d fix it. If it was at all possible, he would be the one that set things right again. No matter what. And heaven help anyone who dared stand in his way.

Those antlers weren’t just for decoration, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo, boy... Vincent's getting serious here. I admit that I'm a tab bit concerned about him... anyone else?
> 
> Thanks again so much for reading and for spending the past year with me! I appreciate you all so much... shoot me any questions or comments in the box below!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick Wilde's day off from work with Finnick is interrupted by a phone call from Judy. As they reunite and reconcile with each other at a frequent haunt of theirs, she brings him up to speed on the tangled web of political chicanery that the N.I.T.E. program and all its participants were wrapped up in. The late arrival of one Dr. Vincent Buckner sends up red flags for Nick; can the fox who knows everyone work together with the doctor who didn't want to help them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I return! I hope you all had a very nice summer. Mine was... well, busy, but things have thankfully slowed down now. Let's get this show back on the road!
> 
> Enjoy!

“Fin, I’m telling you, you need to switch to the other Lemming Brothers Bank up on Pack Street while the construction is going on. You’re throwing money away right now.”

The cruise around Zootopia in Finnick’s van eventually ended in an alley of Hyenahurst where he and Nick proceeded to pop open cold drinks while lounging in the beanbag chairs in the back. The two foxes had filled most of their time together that morning talking business, even though it was supposed to be a day away from work for them both. Nick didn’t mind the choice of topic. The other thing—mammal—occupying his thoughts he was actively trying not to dwell on. More than once he steered the conversation away from his current partner as he settled in to shoot the breeze with his former one.

“Too far off route,” the fennec said, taking another swig from his bottle. “Gas and tolls, Nick. All adds up.”

“Factored that in.” Nick plucked a piece of folded paper from his shirt pocket and handed it to Finnick. “Even accounting for the toll and extra mileage, you’ll see a forty two percent increase in profit from what you’re making now if you just switch banks.” He leaned back and finished off the bottle in his paw. “They can’t hear you over the construction. You need to move, at least for the time being.”

Finnick mulled over the figures in his paw and refolded it noncommittedly. “I’ll think on it.” He gave a wry smirk. “‘Course, try’n to convince the new guy to change it up’s just askin’ for a snap. I’m liable to get somethin’ bit off.”

Nick’s ears flattened and eyes narrowed. “Need help with that?”

Finnick waved a casual paw in his general direction. “Nah, I got it. Nothin’ I can’t handle. Besides,” he added with a knowing look and bottle neck pointed at his friend, “you got other stuff on your plate, huh?”

Russet ears shot up at the insinuating tone, and another sick lurch hit him inside. “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” was the reserved reply as he turned away from the prying gaze aimed in his direction.

Finnick huffed and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I bet you don’t.”

_Deet’n deet’n deet! Deet’n deet’n deet!_

_Thank God,_ was Nick’s initial reaction to the sound of his cell phone’s ring tone, but when he fished it out of his pocket his face blanked at the sight of Judy’s silly duck-faced contact photo on the screen. He glanced up at the fennec fox across from him, his expression half apology and the other half outright annoyance. Finnick indicated the still ringing phone with his upturned paw in invitation. Nick hated to give him the satisfaction, but not answering this call wasn’t an option.

He forced some enthusiasm into his tone as he answered. “Y’ello.”

<Hey Nick… it’s me.> Judy’s voice sounded subdued, especially against the din in the background. Wherever she was at the moment, it was crowded.

“Hey there, Carrots.” His cheek twitched just beneath his eye. The cheerful façade he was using to convince Finnick everything was fine already hurt. “You doing alright? How’s parking duty?”

<Oh, uh, it’s… it’s fine.> A pause. <How’s Finnick?>

“He’s also fine. Irritating as ever.” He smirked as Finnick made an obscene paw gesture at him.

<Good to hear.>

The pleasantries were agonizing, gnawed at his heart; it was the kind of small-talk they never had, the kind of small-talk that you make to preface something terrible. The kind that comes just before you’re told that someone is in the hospital, that someone has died… that someone is leaving.

The uncomfortable silence deepened until it was ridiculous, but every sentence that formed in his throat was made of more small-talk, everything that he didn’t want to say hiding everything that he did, until he heard Judy sigh, and thought that the world was coming down around him.

<Nick, listen…>

_Here it comes._ His ears sank and he braced himself for the “it was nice while it lasted, but…” sort of goodbye that on sleepless nights he imagined might be waiting at the end of this great thing that had happened to him.

<I… I know I’ve been such a jerk to you lately and…> Up sprang his ears as he tuned back in and his heart did a little backflip in his chest. <… and I’m sorry for shutting you out, and I have so many more things I need to tell you and apologize for but it’s too much for the phone, and I hate to bother you on your day off, but I really need your help right now, and…> She inhaled a shaky breath as she ran out of air at the end of her babbling. <…and I hope it’s not too late to ask for it.>

Nick looked across at Finnick, his expression seconds from becoming uncontainable; his smile was hurting for a completely different reason now. He nearly lost it when his short companion gave him a stink eye and mouthed, “What?”

He shooed him and his hard look away with his paw. “When and where?”

Nick could hear the relief in her voice. <How soon can you get to Sprouts?>

“Well, that will depend entirely on the method of travel,” he replied playfully. “How opposed are you to a little parkour?”

Judy laughed, the first he’d heard in more than a week. <Just get here as soon as you can, dumb fox. _In one piece_ , please.>

“On my way.” He hung up and shrugged at Finnick as he sat up straight. “Sorry, pal. Duty calls.”

“Ain’t that a funny nickname for her?” He relished the sour expression that Nick gave him and gave a gruff chuckle. “Jokin’, just jokin’. I’ve had enough of your ugly mug today, anyways. Go save the world, or whatever you do now.” He held up the piece of folded paper between his two fingers pointedly. “And thanks for this.”

Nick reached over and gave him a few rough pats between the ears just to be extra obnoxious. “What would you do without me?”

“Keep pettin’ my head,” Finnick said, his voice revving from between his clenched teeth. “We’ll find out real fast.”

Nick laughed but still drew his paw back immediately. He knew better than to push it too far with his old friend. He opened the back of the van, hopped out, and immediately took off running.

“Later, Fin!”

“I can drive you, you know!” Finnick called after him.

“Not taking the streets, thanks!”

It was an abrupt way to end their day together, but the roadways at this time were a traffic nightmare, especially closer to Downtown. While Nick wouldn’t have minded the ride, it would have taken precious time that he didn’t care to waste right now. He had already calculated the quickest route to his destination and the bunny waiting for him there.

He was completely serious about the parkour.

*****

Nick got there so fast that he thought he deserved some kind of medal. Sprouts wasn’t terribly crowded by the time he arrived, given that the lunch crunch had already ended. He flashed a dapper smile at the little polecat behind the counter and headed straight to the big booth in the back.

It was their table. It was impossible that Judy would be anywhere else.

Her shed meter maid uniform was on the bench beside her and she seemed to be working through her late lunch with particular fervor. The tabletop was covered in notepad pages filled with rushed writing, arrows, stars, and exclamation points. A few crumpled-up pieces of paper were scattered here and there, and Judy continued her furious scribbling even as Nick came up to the somewhat oversized chair that was set in the aisle directly across from her. Her nose was wrinkled, a deep crease set between her eyebrows as she nibbled at the edge of her ear. He waited patiently to be acknowledged.

Nick learned a long time ago never to interrupt her when she had that face.

It was only a few seconds more before Judy put the carrot pen down to give her paw a rest. She shook it out and clenched her fingers a few times before her eyes fell on him and her ears shot straight up.

Nick gave her a good-natured salute. “Officer Wilde, at your service.”

The expression that she wore seemed to be flickering back and forth between wary and glad. It eventually settled on a tiny half-smile.

“What took you so long?”

He kept his face smug and cool, but inside his elation was welling. “Got a Charlie horse down on Main.”

She gave an exaggerated exhale through her teeth with an accompanying eyeroll as she picked up the pen again and continued with whatever she was in the middle of jotting down. “Rookie.”

Nick chuckled. She looked like the old Judy Hopps he knew and loved. She could take however long she needed to say what she needed to say to him; there was no rush. All that mattered to him was that his best friend and partner who he thought he was losing had somehow found her way out of the weeds again. Nick wasn’t about to question the good fortune that he had been graced with, but only pulled the chair out noisily to join her.

“Nope.”

His ears flattened at the quiet rebuke, but it wasn’t spoken in anger or annoyance. Judy instead just scooted over to one side a little and indicated the booth bench beside her with her pen before going back to her writing. He abandoned the chair, widening his smile as he did so.

_Yeah… she’s back._

“My, my. Aren’t we bossy today?” he teased as he climbed up onto the cushioned seat and slipped around the circular table closer to her. He glanced at a few of the papers, but in typical Judy fashion her mind was moving faster than her pen, leaving enormous gaps in whatever narrative she was piecing together.

When he’d brought his eyes back to his place setting a coffee cup had magically materialized there, and the gray paw that had left it was just returning to the papers it was rearranging.

“Aww, you shouldn’t have.” Nick put the cup to his lips for a sip of the hot beverage. He set it back down and put his elbows up on the table. “Not to be that guy, Fluff, but this looks nothing like parking duty.”

The ticketing printer leapt up in front of his face, showing a screen that read “167.” Nick blinked, took another sip of coffee, and leaned far back in the seat with an obvious glance at her backside.

It took only a second for Judy to notice, and she swatted him with the pawheld gadget. “What are you looking at?”

“Just checking to make sure your tail isn’t singed. Did you put nitro in the jokemobile or something?”

She tossed the printer back with her meter maid uniform. “There were just other things I needed to do today.”

“Hmm, that’s right.” Nick rested his chin in his paw. “Patch things up with Patches, then?”

The carrot pen stopped mid-stroke as Judy turned to him with an incredulous look. “Really?”

He shrugged with a smirk. “She’s a _panda_ who is a _doctor_. That one writes itself.”

Judy fought to keep a straight face but ultimately failed as a snicker escaped from her lips. “Well, yes, actually. And we had a long talk that was very… _enlightening_.”

“Oh?” The hard emphasis on the last word didn’t escape him, and Nick felt a twinge in his gut. “What about?”

She picked up one of the pages from the table as her face turned deadly serious. “Just _wait_ until you get a load of this.”

Judy proceeded to run through all of the information she could gather regarding the N.I.T.E. program, from the moment that Dawn Bellwether was indicted to the final session of the previous Friday. She moved through her notes quickly, keeping the conversation as brief as possible while still giving Nick a complete picture of what they were dealing with. She finished with what she had learned from Dr. Leuca regarding the stipulations of her service in Zootopia and all the phone calls that she had made just an hour earlier.

 “…and from what I can tell, it was all perfectly legal.” Judy slapped the papers that she had gathered together back onto the table. “ _Awful_ , but legal.”

Nick folded his arms over his chest and nodded, his face wrinkled with a similar degree of irritation. “If politicians are good at anything, it’s using the law to further their own agenda.”

“We can’t let them end it like this.” Her paws gripped the table’s edge. “I’m sure there must be something we can do.”

“I have a few ideas. How long do we have again?”

Judy’s face twisted up into an apologetic expression. “Two days.”

Nick gave a low whistle. “Really asking a lot of me on my day off, Carrots. You’re lucky I can work nights.”

She dropped her eyes down to the carrot pen on the table, hesitating for a few seconds before saying, “We’ve done great things with 48 hours before.”

His eyes widened for a moment before crinkling within a deep smile. “That we have.”

“I’ve been, uh… been thinking about that a lot, you know.” Judy flicked the pen with her claw slightly, let it roll forward and then roll back. “Have you? Thought about it at all?”

Nick quirked an eyebrow. “Kind of hard not to this past week, wasn’t it?”  

“Yeah.” She sat on her paws to keep from fidgeting with them anymore and stared down at her lap. “I let it get to me.”

Nick put a paw to his mouth and drew a dramatic gasp. “No! _Really_?” he said with a faux surprised face, his voice steeped in sarcasm. The wilted ears that his reaction earned softened his next words considerably; maybe they still had some little ways to go yet to get back to their typical banter. “I’m not taking a jab at you, I’m not. But I thought we ended up on the same page about that. We knew it would probably be rough. Wasn’t that the whole point of starting off with some laughs? Highlighting the good things? It was supposed to carry us through.”

If it were possible to look down even _more_ , she surely accomplished just that. “I know it was. I mean… it would have—”

“Did I say something that put you off?” Judy snapped her head up so fast her neck made a subtle cracking noise. Nick’s expression was earnest, preemptively apologetic and it made her stomach turn cold. “You can tell me, you know, if I went too far with anything.”

She shook her head emphatically. “No… no, it was a great day. Really… it was just the right way to start the week.”

“Then what happened? Why did I leave you at the supermarket ear-to-ear smiles only to come to work twelve hours later and you can barely say two words to me?” His face softened and his ears laid low. “What did I do?”

Judy’s nose twitched. It hadn’t occurred to her that while she was stuck in the mire of her own inner insecurities and doubts that she had inadvertently created similar fears for Nick, also. Her unwillingness to just be honest about what she was feeling all week long had caused him to respond in kind. There was no reason for him to wear such a face. Regardless of everything else she had to say to him, she’d make certain at least that was something he knew without question.

“You didn’t do anything.” She took a deep breath. “When I left the store there was a reporter from ZNN waiting outside. Fired off all those hard-hitting questions that I… wasn’t prepared for. It shook me.”

He scowled, muzzle lifting slightly up from his teeth. “I hope you told them to take a hike.”

“I’m kinda the one who took a hike.” Judy rubbed the back of her neck and refocused her gaze back on the table. “Just turned tail and ran away. Swallowed it, spent a bad night… let it get in my head, and then couldn’t get it out.”

“Are you serious?” Nick drummed his claws on the table. “Why didn’t you just say something?”

“Felt dumb. Felt like I was overreacting. Felt like if I told you it would be a big reminder of how I hurt you, hurt mammals that you care about. Felt like I would end up reliving the press conference all over again.”

“ _Judy_ …”

“I know, but that was how I felt, okay?” Her words turned sharp and short with irritation, and she pulled another long breath in between her teeth to soften her voice again. “Every day I came to work wanting to say something and scared it would be the last thing I ever said to you. Every mammal I passed on the street was another mammal I hurt, who might still be hurting, and I didn’t do enough to make it up to any of them… or to you. I wanted to try to talk to someone, to apologize somehow, so I… so that was why I…”

“…went to the N.I.T.E. session?” Nick finished.

“Yeah. That’s why.” She twitched her nose again at the memory of the packed room, all the faces of all the mammals she didn’t know but wished so badly that she did. “There were so many. They still don’t have their lives back together yet.” Judy added, “Mr. Manchas was there, too.”

“Really.” Nick ran his finger around the rim of his coffee cup. “And how is the Black Panther doing these days?”

Judy twisted her face into a frown. “I said ‘hello’ and gave him a panic attack.”

The fox swallowed the sharp laugh that nearly escaped from his mouth. “Well, to be fair to the poor sod, I can name quite a few mammals that would have a similar reaction at this poi—”

“Nick, please.”

“Alright, nevermind.” He set his cup of now cold coffee aside and folded his paws on the tabletop with a short sigh. “I really wish you’d told me all this sooner.”

“Me too.” A nagging twinge in her stomach prodded her, increased the pace of her heartbeat to a dull roar. She gulped and looked away quickly. “I set a goal for myself when I was… talking to Dr. Leuca this morning. To ask you something I should have asked you before. Even though it scares me to know the answer.”

Nick blinked. “And… what is that?”

“Was it awful for you, too?” Judy brought her eyes back to his face, which he was keeping carefully neutral. “I tried to find you, you know. Kept patrolling down by the bank, by the ice cream parlor. Wanted to tell you I was sorry. I couldn’t find you. Then I gave up and left.” She gripped the table to steady herself against whatever might be coming. “What did you go through?”

His nostrils flared briefly. “Ah, I don’t think—”

“I never asked you, and I should have,” she pressed. “I’m asking now. Please be brutally honest with me on this, Nick.”

“Really don’t want to do that, Fluff.”

Judy blinked and her ears sank behind her. She thought she would be ready for anything he had to tell her, but strangely hadn’t thought for a moment that there might not be anything to tell. This wasn’t the outcome that she’d anticipated, and didn’t feel like an adequate resolution to the fear that was plaguing her for more than a week.

“I… need to hear it, though.”

Nick wrinkled his muzzle. “Shouldn’t I have a say in that?”

Judy frowned and drew back. “Of course you should. I just… I just want you to know I care.”

“I already do. I always knew that.” He gave a sharp snort through his nose as though he’d caught a whiff of something that he found repugnant. “Rehashing my less stellar days from a year ago won’t make that any less true. I’d be lying if I said it was all sunshine and rainbows, but going through a play-by-play is just going to make you feel bad and give me a headache. I don’t want to relive any of that again. I’m past it where I am.” He added softly, “It would be nice if you’d join me.”

“I’m trying. I’m…”

_FLASH! “Decision to talk with you should be his, not yours.”_

Judy’s face blanked. It was the same, the same as before when she’d tried to obtain some kind of resolution from another mammal. Tried and didn’t, then tried again harder, whether he wanted to be a party to it or not.

“Oh, sugar, I’m doing it to you too,” she whispered, and tugged on her drooping ears. “Like Mr. Manchas… why do I keep doing that? Dragging him and you into my hang up… shouldn’t be forcing it on you like this, dumb bunny, dumb, forget I said anything…” And the calm that she’d built up, prepared for every response except for that one disintegrated and the flood of bunny emotions surged out in hiccupping sobs. “Oh, Nick, _please_ I’m… just so sorry, whatever happened… you don’t have to say… or do… anything you don’t want _ever,_ I just wanted… I just don’t want you… to go away… because something I said… or didn’t… and…”

“Alright, that’s enough.” His arms wrapped around her and drew her into his chest. “Get over here, silly rabbit. Put those ridiculous ears to good use and listen to me. You listening?”

Judy nodded into his shirt as he rested his chin atop her head and held her in a firm embrace. It felt like he was absorbing more than just the tears; all the uncertainties, fears, and reservations that had taken residence in the nooks and crannies of her mind were packing up and leaving at last.

“It’s not worth it to me to dwell on what happened anymore, okay? I decided already to accept a friend’s apology, and I’m not going back on my decision. Nothing will change that. I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me forever. I really thought you knew that.”

Judy sniffed. “I forgot.”

“Well… then I’ll just have to do a better job reminding you.”

She breathed a heavy sigh, releasing the rest of the tension that had twisted all her nerves into knots. It was as wonderful as she hoped it would be, to feel like they could be back to where they were before. Of course she wouldn’t need any reminders of how deep—how unbreakable—their friendship was, but the thought was something she looked forward to. And, she decided, she could stand to remind him more, too. That was a fine path for them. She was eager to start down it.

There was a gentle nudge. “Are you using my shirt as a hanky, Carrots?”

A smothered snicker came out of the folds of said shirt and the little gray head rubbed against it impishly. “Maybe. What are you gonna do about it if I am, Slick?”

“I’ll saddle you with the dry-cleaning bill, that’s what.” He poked a finger into her side. “Now, let’s see a smile.”

“Eep!” Judy squirmed and tried to wrench out of his hug-turned-trap. “Knock it off! We’re in public, you maniac!”

“Oh, so close that ti—oof!” The fox took a rabbit foot to his spleen and his grip loosened enough that he could see her expression, perfectly balanced somewhere between antagonized and delighted.

“Nick, I swear I’m gonna bite you _so hard_ if you don’t let me go right now!”

He widened his roguish grin and said, “Just as long as you give me a smi—”

“ _Ahem_.”

The two stopped mid-straight arm at a new arrival standing just beside their table. The reindeer stood tall and imposing, dwarfing the whole booth and the mammals in it. Appraising blue eyes stared sternly at Nick first before regarding Judy with a much kinder look.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Judy took the opportunity that the interruption granted to wriggle free. She was about to answer him when Nicked spoke up first in an irritated sounding voice. “We’re fine here pal, thanks.”

“I wasn’t asking you, was I?” He tilted his nose down to regard the fox over his glasses. “The lady seems bothered and I’d think someone should take a moment to ensure that she’s okay. Call me old-fashioned.”

Nick tensed against the abrasive tone he was all too familiar with and was about to tell the meddlesome stranger where he could hoof it off to when Judy’s paw came up under his chin. His mouth clapped shut with a click of his teeth as she asked, “Dr. Buckner?”

Nick’s ears shot up at the name and was glad that Judy was keeping his jaw closed; it might have hit the table otherwise.

The older bull gave a slight bow forward and reached out to shake the other paw she extended to him. “Officer Hopps. Good to meet you.”

“And you. This—” Judy gave the muzzle in her paw a little shake as she released it. “—is my partner, Officer Nicholas Wilde. Everything is fine. We were just finishing a… long overdue conversation.”

“Ah, I see.” The doctor rubbed at the back of his neck and gave his head a subtle shake. “My misunderstanding, then.” He reached out over the table again, this time in Nick’s direction. “A pleasure, Officer Wilde.”

It most certainly didn’t seem a pleasure for either of them, but Nick said, “Likewise,” and shook the hoof that was offered as he assumed his mask of smugness. “Impressive rack you’ve got there. Surprised you made it through the door. What is that, fourteen points?”

Dr. Buckner took his jacket off and draped it over the back of the undersized chair before sitting down in it. “Fifteen,” he said as he tilted his head and indicated a short, curving tine in the back. “I’m a little lopsided this year.”

“Well, nobody’s perfect.”

The doctor gave a thin smile. “Indeed.” He turned to Officer Hopps and said, “Shall we get down to business? I’m anticipating a busy remainder of my day.”

“Absolutely, yes,” she said as she flipped her notepad to a clean page and picked her pen back up. She was glad for the opportunity to move away from the somewhat awkward introductions. “Were you able to get the information that we talked about?”

“Nothing very detailed, I’m afraid, but I have a fairly reliable email distribution list. It should be sufficient for any communications that may need to be sent to the mammals that opted to be informed of N.I.T.E. sessions electronically.”

“Good start.” She jotted down a few quick notes. “Alright, gents. All suggestions are welcome, but here’s what I’m thinking we do…”

Over a few shared appetizers, the three worked through the remainder of Judy’s lunch hour. Slowly but surely, they formed a solid plan for N.I.T.E.’s expected dissolution on Friday and how to lay the groundwork for an acceptable system of support going forward for the mammals that it would affect.

Dr. Buckner gave a satisfied nod as they firmed up the remaining specifics. “This is the way it always should have been.”

“I’ll get the permits together,” Judy said, and gathered the new batch of notes together with the other pages that she’d already drafted earlier. “If Dr. Buckner can work on securing the support of the other therapists and providing the information about our proposed strategy to the patients, we should have a good showing for Friday at City Hall.”

“I’ll selectively work my networks in tandem, also,” Nick added. “Wouldn’t hurt to bolster the numbers, if possible.”

“I don’t know how necessary that will be,” Dr. Buckner commented dryly. “I have a fairly formidable degree of influence as it is; seems a waste of effort to work over each other.”

“I doubt your influence reaches where I’ll be working,” Nick said, leaning over the table with a self-satisfied smirk. “I’ve got lots of friends in low places.”

“Nick can bring in other sympathetic mammals willing to get involved,” Officer Hopps said, and waved her paw in the reindeer’s direction. “Let him work his magic. He knows everyone, after all.”

Dr. Buckner flicked an ear. “Everyone?”

“Everyone,” Nick confirmed. If the doctor tried to stifle the snort that escaped his snout he didn’t do a very good job of it. “Problem?”

He shrugged. “Not per se. I just find that difficult to believe.”

The smugness intensified. “Should I take that as a challenge?”

“If you want. I’ll admit I’m curious how you would substantiate such a claim.”

Nick waved his paw at the entire rest of the room and all who were in it. “Pick a mammal, any mammal.”

Dr. Buckner gave a cursory look around at the other animals nearby but brought himself back to center without a specific spoken selection. Instead he steepled his hooves and locked his eyes on the fox across from him.

Nick widened his grin. _Challenge accepted._ “Got that practice down on Flock, right? The one next to the Snarlbucks?” Gauging the immediate reaction—ears pinned back in surprise—he continued confidently. “I could set my watch by you. You know, if I wore a watch. Now, if _I_ worked next to a Snarlbucks half my paycheck would never make it home. You’re clearly not a morning mammal, but you never set foot in the place. Always found that odd.”

The doctor didn’t respond or even move for a few moments before accepting the evaluation grudgingly. He leaned back against the chair and dropped his hooves to the table. “Coffee just isn’t my drink of choice.”

Nick winked. “No, it isn’t, is it?”

Dr. Buckner stiffened briefly, but kept his voice even as he acknowledged the outcome of the demonstration. “Alright… you’ve made your point.”

“Hah! Point!” An irritated Judy got an elbow to the ribs as her partner gave her an open-mouthed guffaw. “It’s funny, you know… ‘cause of the antlers.”

“I got it, thanks,” she said to him in a deadpan monotone. “Are you done showing off now? Can we get back to work?” She offered Dr. Buckner a sheepish half-smile on behalf of her companion. “Many apologies… he’s not usually this cheeky.”

“Who are you kidding?” Nick leaned back against the seat with his paws clasped behind his head. “I’d say I’m dialing it back today.”

Dr. Buckner checked his watch for the time and pushed the chair back from the table. “I’d best be getting back to my office and start working on my tasks.” He stood and took up his jacket, putting his arms through the sleeves as he nodded generally toward the two officers. “I look forward to seeing you both again Friday.”

“Same here,” Judy said with the winningest smile she was capable of as the doctor turned away toward the exit of the cafe.

Nick, in contrast, simply waggled his fingers over his head with a pithy, “Toodle-oo.”

Judy waited until the figure of the reindeer was out of sight and earshot before she spun on her partner in annoyance. He’d brought his phone out and was scrolling through it when she gave him a sharp backpaw to the shoulder. He must have been expecting something of the sort, because he barely flinched.

“Ow.”

“What was _that_ all about?” she demanded.

“Couldn’t have asked Patches?” Nick replied, keeping his eyes on the screen as the corners of his mouth pulled down in a deep frown. “You had to pick _that guy_?”

“ _She_ has enough on her plate right now, and _he_ was the first doctor that didn’t read me the confidentiality riot and hang up on me.” Her foot gave a testy few thumps against the seat. “What of it? He wants to help.”

Nick shook his head. “Whatever help he’s about isn’t the kind we need.”

Judy raised an eyebrow. “Okay, seriously. What gives?”

He sighed and put his cell down on the table at last, turning to look at her with unusually solemn green eyes. “N.I.T.E. was just getting under way when I went into the academy, but I kept up with its sorry beginnings, all the arguments for and against it while the ink was still wet on the legislation. And the loudest and the strongest opponent on behalf of the doctors that were asked for their support? Dr. Vincent Buckner. Want to read the op-ed he wrote?”

The web browser on his phone was already open to a particular page on the ZNN mobile site when he passed it to Judy. To call the year-old editorial ‘scathing’ would have been a complete understatement. Aside from the obvious argument that the impact of the incident was not yet entirely understood and likely being underestimated, Dr. Buckner also likened the proposed uncompensated service from the doctors to “involuntary servitude” tantamount to “grand theft” in regards to the value of the guidance they would be providing free of charge. It was hard to imagine those words had been written by the mammal that they’d just been sitting with, but there at the end was his name and his title.

Her ears sank as she finished. “Yikes,” she said and gave Nick back his phone. “That was… harsh.”

“Yeah.” Nick accepted it, put it in his pocket, and crossed his arms. “I don’t know why he agreed to meet with you, Carrots, but he’s only looking out for number one. That guy doesn’t give two sniffs about anyone but himself.”

Judy chewed her lip thoughtfully. If that article were all she had to go on, she would have agreed with Nick completely. But somewhere in the back of her mind was a voice that reminded her of her father’s saying, _“…if she’s facing any repercussions for what happened… It wasn’t her fault.”_ The time she’d spent on the police force had made her an expert at hearing what wasn’t being said; she would have bet good money that there was a great deal the doctor wasn’t saying about the situation that Melanie Leuca had found herself.

In fact, she would have eaten the hat currently sitting on the bench if it was anything otherwise.

“Well,” she said eventually, and reached back to pick up the meter maid uniform and ticket printer from the seat, “maybe he’s trying to. Why don’t we give him a chance?” He put up a paw and opened his mouth with the obvious intent to argue further, but Judy stopped him dead with a hard look. “Do I have to pull rank here, Wilde? Because I will.”

Nick snapped his muzzle shut. He gave an indifferent shrug that included both his arms and upturned paws. “Fine, fine. You’re running this show. I’d much rather work with Patches than Prongs, that’s all.”

Judy rolled her eyes. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Aww, come on,” Nick replied, and turned his head until he was looking at her upside down with a silly grin. “You know you love it.”

“Do I love it?” She put a pensive finger to her chin, as though she even had to think about it at all. She gave his cheek a gentle pat. “Yes, yes I do.”

The bunny stood and put her arm up to wave over their waitress for the check, but Nick said quickly, “Go on and get out of here. I’ll take care of this one.”

Judy gave him an appreciative smile, donned her hat, and zipped out of the booth with a wave over her head. “See you in the morning!”

Nick gave a half wave in return before settling back and allowing his frustration to surface. It was already a precarious arrangement given the very short timeframe they had to work within, and if Dr. Buckner didn’t do what he said he would then the very mammals that would have the most sway in what happened on Friday wouldn’t be present.

Nick gave a snort. He’d have to hedge his bets and at least partially make up the difference with his contacts, just to be on the safe side. It was going to be a very late night.

The waitress swung around finally and he flagged her down.

“What do I owe you, Polly?” Nick asked, taking out his wallet.

“Oh, um…” The pretty civet puckered her forehead in mild confusion. “The male that was with you paid it on his way out.”

“Oh?” He paused and considered. “Tipped you, too?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tipped you _well_?”

“Yes, sir,” she repeated with a firm nod, and he believed her.

Nick put on a bright smile. “Well, good. You deserve it for putting up with us today.” He held up his empty coffee cup. “Mind topping me off, darling? I’ll be out of your fur in just a minute.”

Polly giggled and poured the dark, hot liquid to the rim. “Stay as long as you like, Officer Wilde. And enjoy the rest of your day.”

She moved off to another of her tables. He put the cup carefully to his lips and scrunched his forehead as he reflected on this new information. The doctor could certainly afford it. Just the tie he was wearing could pay for this check and the checks of half the other occupied tables. Still… given his track record, he sure didn’t seem the type to treat.

_‘Maybe he’s trying to,’_ Judy had said. Nick huffed, and inwardly yielded just the tiniest bit. It was a start, but there was still a ways to go.

He took a long sip and pulled his phone out once more, hit the contact for Finnick, and put it to his ear.

It picked up. <What is it _now_? >

“Aww, good to talk to you again too, buddy,” Nick said, and dropped an extra five-spot on the tabletop as he jumped out of the seat and headed for the exit. “Listen, forget about the other bank this week. You’re gonna want to overstock your product tonight and tomorrow and pre-prep them for Friday. Get out the extra cooler, too.”

<What for?>

“Pick me up by Little Rodentia and I’ll fill you in, but I’ll tell you this now: you are going to make an absolute _killing_.”

*****

Despite his best efforts, Dr. Buckner still didn’t return back to his practice until well after Sadie had left for the day, long after the streetlights had started casting shadows along the sidewalk. He keyed into the dark office with his recent bags of purchases dangling from his wrists, and deadbolted the door behind him.

First order of business was to clean up the mess he’d made and get the files back to the storage room. He was surprised to find there was no need to do so, and that his office was neat and tidy, devoid of the piles of folders and scattered boxes he was anticipating.

Dr. Buckner frowned, set the bags on his desk, and made a mental note to himself that once this week had settled down to do something decent for his long-time employee. For once.

_If she decides to remain my employee, that is,_ he thought to himself dismally. The more he thought about the years that he’d spent disregarding her considerable efforts to keep his office running smoothly, the more he couldn’t believe she continued to work there. Would he have the benefit of her service for much longer?

The desk chair groaned as Dr. Buckner set himself down in it and turned his computer on. The email distribution list he asked Sadie to send him was there, as he knew it would be. Another job well done. He pulled up his own records, scrolled through, and deftly deleted one particular email address before crafting up a simple message to send to the rest.

He was on autopilot, moving along at a steady clip without pause through the tasks that he needed to ensure he accomplished tonight. He sorted through the list of professional contacts in the small phonebook on his desk, the names of other counselors and therapists that Dr. Buckner had for many years now known, consulted with, accepted referrals from, and attended seminars with. He dialed the first name he came to and leaned back in his chair as it rang.

It picked up. <Now _that’s_ a name I haven’t seen on my caller-ID in a while,> the jovial voice belonging to Dr. Andrew Swift said.

“A very good evening to you also, Drew.”

<I’ll admit that I’m surprised, Vincent. You know, that you’re still alive.>

“Shocking, isn't it?” Dr. Buckner said with a subdued chuckle. Unfortunate as it was to admit, a knowledge and expertise in treating mental maladies didn’t grant any of them an immunity to the same. On the contrary, the intense nature of the work that therapists exposed themselves to daily meant, sadly, an elevated rate of suicide. It was a specter that few in their profession would acknowledge with any levity, but Dr. Swift had the same grim sense of humor that Dr. Buckner did, and this was normal discourse for the two of them. “With the year we’ve all had, it’s a wonder any of us are still kicking.”

<Hmm, I can’t disagree with you there.> There was a short pause and then a distinct crunching noise. Someone was working through dinner. <What can I do for you?>

“It has come to my attention that a considerable stressor has been impacting multiple of my patients this past week, and I believe it requires immediate action. As it may be likewise impacting yours, I wanted to bring this awareness to you and suggest a means of resolving said situation for all those involved.”

<Is that right? Well, I’m all ears.>

Dr. Buckner laughed; it was funny because Dr. Swift was a jackrabbit. “Haven’t you run that joke into the ground by now?”

<I’ll stop using it when mammals stop laughing at it.> He could hear the smile through the phone. <Go on, then. Fill me in. What’s happening?>

The better part of the next two hours was spent contacting his other colleagues similarly, exploiting that ‘formidable degree of influence’ to its fullest, urging their support and advising that they could expect to see details within the hour, to do their best given the short notice, and that he expected he would see them on Friday.

After Dr. Buckner had hung up the phone for the last time, he gave a hearty stretch back against the chair with a satisfied grunt and stood up. He gave his office a fond look around. His own personal safe space, where he was more comfortable even than in his own house. A place where he could be the expert in his field, be looked to for guidance, be the authority figure he wanted to be.

An icicle-sharp jab hit him square in the gut when he considered what he was about to do to it.

The bottle in the desk drawer called to him, and this time Dr. Buckner had no desire or reason to refuse it. He poured himself half a tumbler of the strong liquid and set it on his desk before yanking off his tie. He popped the buttons on his cuffs and rolled them up to his elbows before digging his hooves into the bags.

_Time to get to work._

*****

When Melanie stumbled into her apartment it was long past dinnertime. She let her purse and keys fall to the floor as she shut the door behind her, though she held onto the single envelope that she had retrieved from her mailbox. She tore into it with her claw as she plopped heavily down onto the couch and leaned her head back with a deep sigh.

She’d done it, somehow. She’d managed to reach out to each of her patients, to give them context for the notices that she’d sent to them. For some the phone call was enough, just being allowed to ask their final questions and wish her well. Some needed more time, a firmer and more personal touch. A last appointment. She ran out the funds on her subway card shuttling around Zootopia for these requests, but she made it to each and handled them with the same level of care and consideration as she had become known for. She reminded them of their goals and assured them that their new guides would help them keep moving forward. Without her.

_Without me._

Melanie grimaced and rose from the couch. The letter she placed on the table and made herself a new kettle of tea to drink with her bamboo dinner. She set it and her cup in front of her as she sat and finally pulled the folded-up correspondence from the envelope. The return address was a government office building under the logo for M.I.C.E. (Migration, Immigration, and Customs Enforcement), so she had an idea already what it would say.

It still hit her like a freight train.

> “Dear Dr. Melanie Leuca,
> 
> The city of Zootopia wishes to thank you for your commendable service in support of the Nighthowler Incident Therapy and Education (N.I.T.E.) program. We regret to inform you that we will be restructuring our budget for the upcoming fiscal year and will be suspending the aforementioned program for the foreseeable future. At this time, your assistance will no longer be required.
> 
> Any work visa and/or residency permit you have been issued will expire effective seven (7) business days from the date of this notification. In an effort to assist you in relocating to your country of origin, please accept the enclosed boarding pass…”

The rest of the notice gave general information and directions for vacating her current premises and a schedule of times and ships down at the Docks that would be available to return her across the ocean starting Friday.

Her paws shook around the pages they held. Every shifting, swimming word struck her a new blow. Her stomach chilled and churned as the skin beneath her fur became so hot it felt like it was melting away. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. Melanie knew that this was going to happen, that this was the conclusion that was coming for her. She had prepared and prepared for it. She had accepted it.

Why was the little face in the kettle crying, then?

“Stop now,” she said, her voice as hot as the steam coming out of the spout. The cub face blinked at her, causing the welling tears to spill from the brown eyes. “Stop crying. It will be fine. They will be fine. You will be fine.”

Trembling lips in the kettle, a face that knew she was lying. Melanie shook her head hard. “Nothing you have not already done, right? Survived before, will do again. Yes, it is sad. And… can be sad tonight, but not tomorrow. Tomorrow will be good day.”

_How? How can it possibly be a good day tomorrow?_

She was right to doubt her own words; they weren’t always true, after all. She drew herself up, and put extra conviction in her next ones.

“No work, no phone. Last day here will be nice. Will make sure is nice.”

_Promise._

“Yes,” Melanie said, and nodded. The face nodded back. “Good. Now stop crying.”

The notice she set aside, wiped her sleeve over her eyes, and rose from the chair to survey the living room and all the next steps she would need to ensure she accomplished to keep from finding herself again a liar. Tomorrow was still a long way away, and if she was to make it the nice day she promised herself then that meant the last of the tasks she would need to complete for her departure would need to be done tonight.

Dinner was eaten, quickly. Final assessments were made regarding which possessions would be discarded (the kettle was coming, she decided). The apartment was cleaned, completely. Tomorrow’s clothes were set out.

It was just before midnight by the time she was finished, but again she’d managed it. Her bags were packed, the one box she could carry was filled. As for her food… well, the two remaining bundles and whatever was left in the kitchen would just have to suffice.

Melanie flopped into bed, her body and her mind beyond drained. The last few minutes before tomorrow were turbulent ones. The loneliness took an especially heavy toll when she put her head down on the pillow and reached over to the nightstand for the little box that wasn’t there. The confidence she had from the afternoon’s progress was nearly forgotten. There wasn’t even the illusion of company with her anymore. Now she was the only one she had to talk to.

She woke her cellphone and held it in front of her nose in the darkness, squinting at its bright screen. There were so many names and so many numbers, but not a single one belonged to someone that she would talk to about herself and her fears. She scrolled down and down and down through the information of so many mammals from so many months and so many sessions, and stopped at the last name in the list: Vincent Buckner. The most logical animal to call was the last one she wanted at the other end of her phone.

Today turned into tomorrow and it was the last thought Melanie allowed herself to have about it. She turned her cell off and set it down as she curled up beneath the covers, icy cold in her bones and a hornet’s nest in her stomach. Her eyes closed at last to golden lights, a swirl of snow in the darkness of the path ahead, and a fragile hope that she was capable of finding something enjoyable in a day spent with herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, it's so good to write these characters again... It's been a while, so I may be a bit rusty, but I trust you'll let me know, my wonderful readers. I hope you all enjoyed this update.
> 
> Comments, concerns, queries, conundrums? You know what to do! :D
> 
> See you again real soon! (Promise!)


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melanie wakes up early to spend her last full day in Zootopia touring the city. Dr. Buckner, meanwhile, prepares for his day at work, and a very particular appointment he’s been anticipating with a very particular patient.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Nellie, guys, shit's about to get real up in here. I have been just _dying_ for this interaction for such a long time, I am _stoked_ I can finally share it with you all. 
> 
> Trigger warnings:  
> ~Alcohol abuse  
> ~Psychological manipulation  
> ~Claustrophobic themes  
> ~Bad therapy
> 
> O_O Umm... yeah. I wish you luck, my friends. See you on the other side!

Melanie was awake Thursday morning before the sun even thought about peeking over the horizon. She showered and dressed in the dark, then ate the last of the eggs still in the fridge for breakfast before heading with conviction out the door.

In all the time that she’d been in Zootopia, she had never watched the sun rise over the city.

With practically all of her days spent in clinics, venues, with patients, or in her apartment either eating or planning for N.I.T.E. sessions, she hadn’t set aside much time to be outside just for the sake of being outside. She told herself often there would always be tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow; now, there were no more tomorrows here. As much as Melanie loved the city, she’d seen very little of it. She still hadn’t seen all of the districts. She hadn’t ridden the monorail or visited the boroughs. If the last day she’d be spending in this glorious place was to be anything pleasant, it had to be spent out and about. There was a laundry list of things she still wanted to do.

First stop was Savanna Central Station for the train out to the boroughs. It wouldn’t do to watch the sun come up in the middle of the street. Melanie was alone in the passenger car except for a couple of snoozing badgers making the commute home from work. She got off upon reaching the other side of the bay, found a bench on the little hill that served as a sightseeing spot for tourists, and waited for the dawn.

Zootopia was breathtaking in the sunrise. The curving skyscrapers shined blindingly bright when the light hit them, and the whole city exploded in a kaleidoscope of colors she didn’t even know the proper names of in either language. Every line of every architectural marvel showed crisp and sharp against a sky cascading slowly through the entire spectrum until it decided to settle on blue with wispy white streaks of cloud here and there. There were probably more beautiful things in the world, of course, but at that moment Melanie couldn’t think of one.

The ride back was spent with her paws pressed against the glass watching the districts fly past. The blazing yellow sands of Sahara Square, the too white snows and too blue ice flows of Tundratown, the suffocating green of the Rainforest District. Even though she knew now there was no bamboo in this jungle, if Melanie could have chosen a place to call her home, she still thought it would have been there. The ancient forest on the other side of the sleepless sentinel mountain.

She walked up and down the streets of Downtown watching the city’s assorted inhabitants waking up until her legs itched for rest. All at once she realized that she’d been so enamored with the tiny and spectacular details around her that she’d lost track of where her path had led her to. She slowed her steps to determine where she’d ended up and was surprised to find her surroundings looking awfully familiar. It hit Melanie even before she looked up at the next street sign where she had absentmindedly wandered: Flock Street. She was just coming from the opposite direction than she had traveled each Monday since she started facilitating N.I.T.E. sessions.

Melanie ambled up to the bus stop that was across the street from Vincent Buckner’s practice and stared with unblinking eyes at the quiet, inconspicuous business front. It would still be closed for just a little longer; she really had gotten up very early to see so much and still be standing here before most of the businesses and shops had started their normal workdays.

This hadn’t been on her list of things to do, and for some reason she felt guilty about that. If she was honest with herself, she had spent much more time with Vincent than she had with practically any other mammal in the city. Too much time for the two of them to still know so little about each other. Not that he hadn’t asked. Repeatedly. So many unwelcome questions that she had repelled or torn to shreds before they could come anywhere near her. Until recently, that is. And that had gone well.

When Melanie blinked Vincent had suddenly appeared, as though her thoughts had summoned him. He walked with distracted steps down the sidewalk on the other side of the avenue, his hooves shoved deep in his pants pockets. As he passed the Snarlbucks one door down from his office building he gave an enormous yawn, cutting it short with what looked like irritation before he slowed to a pause. Vincent looked up at the coffee shop, snorted, and stared in through the window, seemingly trying to decide if he ought to go in or not.

Melanie wrestled with herself as she watched, a low ringing starting to rise in her ears. She had made peace with her patients, with Judy, with the city itself… but not with him. Would he even see her? After all the awful things she said? After attacking him, destroying his property? She considered, started forward, changed her mind, turned, changed her mind again, got frustrated with herself, and turned back… twice. Vincent had apparently chosen not to go into the coffee shop and resumed the rest of the short walk to his office. His ears perked when he stopped at the door, and he turned just his head to look across the street. She held her breath for the split second that his piercing blue met her warm brown…

_Whooooooosh!_

The eight o’clock express pulled up to the bus stop right on time. His figure was replaced with her reflection staring back from the shiny dark stripes of a mural on the side of the bus advertising an upcoming Gazelle concert. The twisted face from his mirror played over it in a flash, and it eliminated every choice but one. How could she invade his space again, bring back to his workplace the memory of the snarling panda that nearly clawed him to ribbons?

She sighed, hugged her arms around herself, and boarded the bus. She plunked heavily down in the second seat. As it pulled away, she pressed her forehead into the seatback in front of her and tried to ignore the inner voice whispering ‘ _coward_ ’ over and over again in rhythm with the sound of the spinning wheels.

*****

Dr. Buckner frowned as the bus across the street drove away to reveal not who he thought he saw but instead a pair of black and white zebras arguing over something on their cellphones. He dropped his ears back and walked into his practice.

It made perfect sense that she would be on his mind today considering the exceedingly foolhardy thing he was about to do. That he _had_ to do.

Sadie was already at the front desk and beginning her morning routine by the time he came in, which was typical. She spared him a brief glance before turning back to her computer. “Goodness, two after. Another minute more and I would have had you declared dead.”

It sounded like it could have been a joke, but her stone-faced expression killed it the second it left her lips. It wasn’t hard to imagine that she might be in a tetchy mood from the prior evening, which was better for what Dr. Buckner had in mind. If he was going to be locking horns today, he preferred to do so without implicating anyone else.

“Wishful thinking?” he countered, and smiled as she snapped her head up, but he let the smile drop almost immediately. It felt snide, and while he did have a rather unpleasant mix of emotions roiling around in his mind, none of them were meant for Sadie.

“I… that is, I certainly didn’t _mean_ …” she started to stammer, but Dr. Buckner waved his hoof dismissively as he came up to her desk.

“Oh, lighten up. I know what you meant,” he said, and stifled yet another yawn. “Incidentally, it seems I did burn the candle at both ends yesterday. Remind me what appointments I have to look forward to?”

Sadie drew herself back, recovered her voice, and brought the day’s schedule up on the screen. “Two this morning at nine and ten fifteen, your standing Thursday noon appointment, and a one thirty and four.”

“Reschedule the last two, please. Any open time next week will be fine.” He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to her. “I have errands I need you to run this afternoon, and I’m not managing the desk while you’re out.”

Sadie twitched her ears as she grudgingly accepted the paper from Dr. Buckner. She didn’t want him messing with her workspace, either, but he made it sound like that job was beneath him, and that was something she intensely resented. Her attitude darkened further as she looked over what turned out to be a detailed list. The fur on her neck raised; she would have been less insulted if he’d asked her to pick up his dry cleaning.

“Half of these things I usually do on Fridays, anyway,” she said, scanning even further down the page. “Like the bank drop? I don’t have all the payments for the week yet; what sense does it make to do that on a Thursday? And the Downtown traffic in the middle of the day is a disaster since they started repaving—”

“Sadie.” His voice sounded soft but when she looked up at him he was staring sternly over his glasses at her. “Would you just do as I ask? It’s really not up for discussion.”

Sadie flattened her ears as she folded the paper in half and stuck it into the pocket of the jacket that was draped over her chair. “Is there a particular reason you’re micromanaging my normal procedures, Doctor?”

“Yes.”

“Will you tell me what that reason is?”

“No.” He turned toward the hallway and paused. “Any other questions?”

She sighed; she’d learned long ago to choose her battles, and this one wasn’t worth fighting. “No, sir.”

“Good,” Dr. Buckner said as he started away from her. “Thank you, Sadie.”

She waited until she heard his door click shut before turning back to her computer and muttering a quiet stream of colorful expletives under her breath.

*****

No matter how Sadie prepared herself for his arrival, it always shook her to her core, as though she had swallowed an earthquake. He would throw the door wide so it crashed into the little table that was behind it and make her jump. His footsteps fell so heavy, even on the carpet, coming toward her like rolling thunder. He’d take gruff breaths and end each sentence he spoke at her with some kind of snort or huff that made her want to crawl beneath the desk. Reminded her that in his eyes she was insignificant, and he was the be all and end all of everything that mattered.

Her least favorite patient, Robert LeBoare, arrived for his noon appointment right on time.

“Good day, Mr. LeBoare,” Sadie said in as even a voice as she could manage once the front door had closed and she’d forced her heartbeat back to a more normal rhythm. “Let’s get you checked in and you can head right back.”

She pulled up his billing and insurance profile as he leaned against the desk, drumming his hooves impatiently on the counter, driving her blood pressure up with each tap. Her paws stumbled over the keys. “Any changes in your demographic or insurance information?”

“Not since last time you asked me,” he said, now tapping even harder. “Or the time before that. Or the time before _that._ ”

“Standard procedure, sir. A lot can happen since your last appointment, after all.”

He gave a derisive grunt and started to walk around the desk to head back to Dr. Buckner’s office. Sadie wheeled her chair to the side and put her paw out expectantly.

“Mr. LeBoare.” Sadie flexed her fingers twice in a ‘give it’ gesture, the same way she would with her three children. “Your phone, please.”

Robert scowled down at her with what sounded like a low growl building in his throat. He pulled his cellphone from his pocket and swiped away at it, closing out apps and setting it to lock as he muttered, “Most ridiculous rule this rutting office has.”

“As we’ve discussed previously, this is for your privacy and protection,” she said with as much patience as she could muster, even though this was a conversation they had had before nearly every session. “Dr. Buckner is subject to this policy also, same as you. It’s his directive, not mine, so if you still take issue with it please voice your displeasure directly to him.”

He wiped the screen against his shirt and held it out over her. “I’d better not find any greasy paw prints on it later, _kitten._ ”

Sadie unlocked her desk drawer, took out the cellphone tray, and put it on the counter for him to put his phone in directly. She picked up the tray and slipped it back into the drawer before locking it and removing the key from the little keyhole.

“Once again, I have no intention of accessing your information, though you have the freedom to either lock your phone or shut it off completely if you’re so _concerned_.”

The last few words were spiked with just the slightest hint of venom despite her best efforts, and it didn’t go unnoticed. Robert stooped down into her face with a belligerent grunt, and her ears pinned back under his hostile glare. “A snippy little pred like you oughtta be more respectful if she wants to keep her job, wouldn’t you say?”

She’d never been so close to hissing at a patient before in her life. Sadie twitched her nose instead. “Your appointment is starting,” she murmured as she turned away from the nasty look the boar was giving her. “Your time with Dr. Buckner is wasted out here talking to me, isn’t it?”

Robert straightened himself back up with a dismissive sneer. “Damn right, it is.”

“Please head back, then. He’s expecting you.”

Sadie waited until she heard the door to Dr. Buckner’s office close, and then grabbed her jacket. She retrieved the bank deposit bag from the floor safe under the desk, shouldered her purse, and headed immediately out the door.

It probably was just as well she get out of the office, after all. A bit of fresh air and sunshine, even if it was mostly spent sitting in traffic, was better than being stuck in the same building as the two of them.

*****

Dr. Buckner stood quietly incensed in front of his desk; the office door was cracked just enough to hear the exchange in the waiting room and it took everything he had to stay put. How many times had this kind of thing happened? Where the hell was he not to even recognize that this was going on in his own practice? To his own employee? Was he _blind_?

The only thing that kept him from going out there was the certainty that Sadie could handle herself in the face of such harassment and, as usual, she didn’t disappoint him. Robert appeared a few seconds later, shoving roughly through the door, and pushing it closed behind him. Dr. Buckner turned with a neutral smile.

“Good afternoon, Bob. Right on time, as expected,” he said and edged his sleeve back with a slight flinch. Even he wasn’t immune to habit; he’d looked to his wrist for a watch that he wasn’t wearing today.

Robert didn’t notice, or at least was unconcerned with the grimace if he did. “That secretary of yours is a real snit,” he said, and dropped onto the couch so hard it groaned beneath his weight. “I don’t know why you keep her on, the mouth she has.”

“Sadie is a very competent assistant, I’ve found,” Dr. Buckner replied evenly, and settled into his armchair with his clipboard and pen in hoof. “Of course, if she said something that bothered you I’ll be sure to have a word with her when you’re heading out.”

“I hope so.” The boar crossed his arms across his chest with clear irritation. “I’d be surprised if she hasn’t cost you business, you know. You ought to find yourself better help.”

An ear-flick. “While I certainly appreciate your sage advice, I doubt you want to spend your time this afternoon talking about my staffing decisions, do you?”

Robert snorted, and then put a hoof to his face to rub the deep-set grimace from his forehead. “No, I don’t.”

“What’s on your mind?”

The statement was grating. The real question was what _wasn’t_ on Robert’s mind? His brother’s death, simultaneously a soul-draining loss and a profound relief for his family. The grief coupled with the sudden absence of the constant helplessness, of never again seeing his loved one so broken and ruined and suffering. Of never seeing him again, period.

The fury, the indignation at the injustice of it all, that he had no way of remedying. A murderous monster, a killer wolf still allowed to be free in the city while _he_ , a victim of his savagery, spent a night in jail like a… like an _animal._ Nearly missed the funeral… the last time he’d see his sibling and he had to schlep in unkempt, unrested… _unbelievable._

All of this and more to unpack. Robert didn’t know where to start, but that never mattered. They’d get through it all, as they always did. Dr. Buckner understood.

He always understood.

Robert opened his mouth to respond, but a draft of cold air was dumped on him from the vent on the wall above the couch. He chattered his teeth with an involuntary shiver.

“Isn’t it a little chilly in here?” he asked instead and moved to the side just enough to be out of the way of the frigid air that now seemed to be steadily flowing into the room.

“You know, I’ve heard that from others today,” Dr. Buckner said casually. “Seems that the air conditioning unit might be malfunctioning. I’m confident Sadie already called to have someone come out and take a look, but you know how it is. We’ll just have to make the best of it in the meantime.” He pointed with his pen at a red plaid square draped over the armrest of the couch. “I set out a blanket, just in case.”

Robert eyed it with annoyance, hunkered further down against the couch, and crossed his arms again.

“Not really problematic for me, of course, tundra mammal that I am,” Dr. Buckner continued. He paused a moment with a significant look across at his patient and tapped his pen against his clipboard. “I know that we’ve never discussed it, but that’s not an issue for you, is it? Tundra mammals?”

He blinked and scowled slightly. “Only issue I have is with those monstrous _animals_ in Tundratown. You know all the polar bears have basically become capos for the local crime syndicates, right?” He snorted. “Glad I don’t have to live there.”

“Hmm… I suppose I can see that being something to take issue with. _All_ of a certain species being involved in criminal activities.”

Robert rubbed his arm up and down for a bit of warmth. “Just goes to show how those _sorts_ will always do what comes naturally.”

Dr. Buckner tilted his head. “And what is that, Bob?”

“You know… predators will always be predators.”

Nostrils flared. “Quite.”

Even now… even now Dr. Buckner could see himself sidestepping this discussion. Redirecting without correcting that line of thought. Melanie hadn’t been entirely right, but in a way, he wished that she had been. He wished he could pinpoint just one thing he said that might have spurred Robert to such action against another mammal, but the fact remained that there wasn’t. They had such conversations multiple times. Multiple times, Dr. Buckner had done nothing about them. Multiple times he had not only commiserated but… agreed. Because he could see it his way. He understood. And it was easier—always easier, always took less time—to agree. To take his side. To echo the words until they were so loud no other voice could be heard. To feed the flames, rather than douse them.

Not today.

“Now I’m thinking of it,” Dr. Buckner continued nonchalantly, “unless there was a certain topic you wanted to discuss right now, I might suggest an exercise to start our session. Would that be acceptable to begin with?”

Robert searched inwardly for a moment, and then said, “Yeah… that would be fine.”

“Excellent.” Dr. Buckner clicked his pen and flipped one of the pages on his clipboard back. “It’s a simple word association. I’ll give you a word, and you say whether you find the thing positive or negative to you. Are you ready?”

Robert nodded.

“Aardvark.”

“Positive.”

Dr. Buckner scribbled on the paper. “Addax.”

Robert raised an eyebrow. “… Positive.”

 _Scribble, scribble._ “Antelope.”

“Positive?”

“Aardwolf.”

The boar’s face screwed up into an expression of sheer fury, the word _wolf_ lighting up his anger immediately.

Dr. Buckner tilted his head and made another note. “That’s quite a face. I wonder what the reason could be for such obvious contempt. Do you have a problem with termite-eaters, Bob? Or is it just the fact that it shares part of its name with a certain _predator_ that bothers you?”

The boar stiffened at the scolding tone, and his temper kicked into an even higher gear. “The hell kind of question is _that_?”

“A rather pertinent one, I’d say.” Dr. Buckner folded his hooves together over the clipboard and leaned forward. “It has come to my attention that your tolerance level is remarkably low and may be a contributing factor in your abysmal anger management.”

Robert lifted his lip in offense. “Did you just…?”

“Yes, I did.” The reindeer’s earlier pleasant tone of voice now turned decidedly unfriendly.

“What’s going on here?” Robert demanded. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Oh, where to begin.” The clipboard was set aside on the desk. Dr. Buckner steepled his hooves with a hard glare at the pig sitting on his couch. “I’ve heard it on good authority that you went off on my colleague at the last N.I.T.E. session, almost attacked a disabled wolf, and proceeded to detain and threaten a room full of families and children. Did I leave anything out?” Robert blinked a few times, a completely flummoxed expression on his face. “Would you care to explain yourself?”

The blindsiding inquiry only threw him for a few seconds before he resumed his usual rancor. “I don’t like your _tone_ , Doctor.”

“Then you’re not going to like much of what I have to say to you this afternoon.”

“I don’t have to take this.” The boar sprang to his feet and turned on his heels to leave. “And you better not charge me for this insult, either, or I’ll—”

He’d reached the door by this point and put his hooves around the knob to open it… but it didn’t turn. It didn’t even budge.

“You’ll what, Bob?” Dr. Buckner’s eyebrows raised in a guise of mild interest as Robert turned back with just a glimmer of confusion on his face. “Please finish your sentence. I’m genuinely curious what you’ll do.”

Robert tried again harder, more desperately, but the result was the same.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t have anything else to say to you.” Robert’s voice teetered on the razor’s edge between alarm and fury. He shouldered the door, but it was like trying to muscle open a brick wall.

“There’s so much to discuss, though, isn’t there?” Dr. Buckner pressed. “For example, I’d love to hear what could have possessed you to hold more than three hundred traumatized mammals against their will and browbeat one of them within an inch of his sanity. That would be a very interesting conversation. Don’t you want to talk about _that_ , Bob?”

“NO.” He tried to wedge his hooves into the frame. “Why won’t this stupid door open?”

“I wonder.”

Robert stopped dead at the chilling, ominous tone. When he turned to again regard the reindeer seated at the other side of the room, his insides turned to ice flows. A cold, unyielding gaze was upon him, eyes that suddenly seemed a deathly color blue.

Frostbite blue.

Coven hooves clacked against the door panels. “Hey! Bobcat! The door is stuck!”

“I’m sure Sadie is off running this afternoon’s errands by now,” Dr. Buckner said coolly. “I must say I find it interesting you would ask her for help after the frankly appalling way you treated her not fifteen minutes ago.” He paused and then gave a short, breathy chuckle. “That is, I think it was fifteen minutes ago. Hard to tell the time at the moment.”

Robert pounded his fists repeatedly against the door now, and shouted louder as if that would make what Dr. Buckner said untrue. “BOBCAT GIRL! Let me out of here!”

“Why do you keep calling her that?” Dr. Buckner’s harrowing voice wormed unwanted into his ears, low and silky and dangerous. “Is she not good enough, not important enough a mammal for you to know more than her species? Her _name_ is Sadie Catterson, _she_ is the reason this office runs like a Swiss clock, she is a mother of—”

His face and mind blanked. The spot where that information should have been was empty, a gaping void in the narrative of time that he’d spent working with her. Did he really never care to ask after her family? Never care to know that about her, something so simple as how many children she had? It was more than one, he was fairly certain… two? What were their names, their ages, their birthdays? Why did he know all of that about Robert’s boys, and he didn’t even like him?

Dr. Buckner grimaced and shook his head hard. “She is a mother and an exemplary employee and a good mammal, and you come in here and call her slurs and mistreat her for no other reason than she happened to be born a feline?”

Robert backed into the corner. His hooves gripped at the wall and eyes darted around the room. He was in a box. A pen. A _cage._

“Phone,” Robert croaked, and lunged for the desk. He picked the receiver up, put it to his ear… and nearly dropped it. There was no dial tone, no time or numbers on the display as he stabbed at the buttons. Blank. Dead.

God, it was quiet… wasn’t there usually a sound machine going? Why was it so… so _silent_ in here? The silence became resounding, eardrum-bursting, like it had turned to liquid and was flooding into his brain.

He snapped his head up at Dr. Buckner, still sitting calmly in his armchair, observing with eyes so cold it burned. The reindeer cocked his head to the side, a benign kind of movement that at the same time still seemed to be steeped in distaste. Robert licked his lips, his mouth suddenly bone dry.

_What the hell is happening??_

Dr. Buckner waited, watching him unravel with mild fascination, timing as approximately as he could the boar’s descent. While he didn’t necessarily _like_ playing mind games, the fact remained that he was still _very_ good at them. It wouldn’t be long before Robert resigned himself to the quandary he was now trapped in, and then he should be open to any path out. Open to any suggestion that might make it stop. Mind like putty, moldable, impressionable. Changeable.

And it would change.

He sighed and removed his glasses so he could rub some of the tension from his face. “You really should take a seat, Bob.”

“You have a cell phone, don’t you?” Robert’s voice was almost hysterical, still unwilling to believe that the other mammal sitting in this tiny, shrinking space was making no move to try and escape it. “Right? Don’t you?”

“No cell phones are permitted in this room during sessions, which you’ve expressed often is a rule that is not to your liking.” Dr. Bucker leaned back in his chair and put his glasses back on his snout. “You may also recall that this office is completely soundproofed; I believe that was a particular selling point when you were shopping around for your therapist, wasn’t it? Privacy is an important consideration in a healthcare setting, wouldn’t you agree?”

Robert shuddered. Goosebumps pricked at his skin and he began to shake involuntarily. He could see the next breath he took as it left his nose, and it hit him with horror that the temperature had dropped far lower than would be considered typical for an office. This wasn’t standard air conditioning. It was more like… refrigeration. Climate control.

 _Tundra_ climate.

“You d-did this on purpose!” Any bite the accusation would have had was lost as his voice wobbled and shook within the shivers that were quaking his core.

“Hmm… I can see that being a difficult thing to prove,” Dr. Bucker said.

The condescension in that voice heated the blood in Robert’s veins to boiling. A sound that was part grunt, part snarl, part squeal roared from his mouth and he pivoted around the desk as he made to charge the mammal that was keeping him from leaving.

“ _Stop_.”

He came to a screeching halt. The tips of Dr. Buckner’s intimidating rack of antlers were an inch from his throat, thrust down in front of him in warning. It wasn’t something that Robert had ever really thought about before, how sharp they seemed. How they curved like claws.

“I’ll have you consider carefully your next move,” Dr. Buckner cautioned, and raised his head back up ever so slightly to glare daggers at the pig now standing frozen just in front of him. “Attacking me would be very ill-advised. If you force me to defend myself I promise I will do so… and that will not end well for you.”

Robert gulped. How long had he been stuck in here? No clock, no timer, no watch gave him any indication, but surely it had been long enough, right? The secretary must have come back by now, right?

He sprinted back to the door and pulled at the knob with all his might. “Open this door!”

“Is that what Dr. Leuca asked you to do?” The boar whirled around at the soft voice that was all of a sudden far too close, and found himself almost nose to nose with Dr. Buckner’s gravely serious face. “Is it? Say it to me like she said it to you.”

Robert cowered, ducking his head down low and away from the reindeer’s pointed antlers. He swallowed hard, coated his tongue in nauseating sweetness, and said, “Please… let me go home.”

“Yes, that sounds a bit more like her.” The doctor reached past Robert and grabbed at the knob, making no attempt to actually turn it. “Oh, dear, looks like it’s locked, how odd. Guess we’ll have to settle in and wait for help. Good thing I have plenty of conversation topics ready to pass the time.” He pointed at the couch. “Sit. Down. _Now_.”

Robert shrank back and skirted slowly around Dr. Buckner, who stared after him as he returned to the couch and sat in it once more. The reindeer stood at the door for another few seconds, took a deep breath to slow his revving heart, and walked over to his armchair.

“I had a very long night, Bob,” he said as he sat down. “A very long night, an even longer morning, and I can definitively tell you that this afternoon is going to go on forever. If all goes well this will be a suitably unpleasant experience for the both of us.” He picked up his pen and clipboard again before indicating the blanket. “You’d best put that on now, I’d say.”

Robert gave a weak glower and huff, but didn’t move.

“That wasn’t a suggestion.” Dr. Buckner pointed at the blanket again more insistently. “Put it on.”

The boar made a bold attempt at defiance for about five seconds more, but after another draft of air from the vent dumped on him he reached out to take the plaid cover up. He threw it around his shoulders and held it together with his hooves as he shot a look of pure poison at the doctor across from him.

“I’ll have y-your license.”

A sharp, stabbing kind of ache struck Dr. Buckner between the ribs. Not exactly unexpected, but still impossible to defend against on this path that he’d chosen. The thought of losing his work and his practice made him want to crawl into a bottle and never come out.

Like his father had.

“A threat. What a surprise,” he replied, his voice somehow keeping steady and cool. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

Robert blinked in disbelief. “You’ll never practice medicine again.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to take up golf.” Dr. Buckner straightened his back and rolled his shoulders, puffed his fur up to remind the pig as much as himself who was in control here. “You think you can push me around. You think I’ll cave and you’ll get your way like you always do. You think you can frighten me.” He pointed at his own face. “Do I look _frightened_ to you?”

There was a sinking kind of sensation in Robert’s stomach. The most effective means he had of forcing the doctor’s hooves seemed to have been completely neutralized. If he didn’t care about _that_ , what other leverage was there to use against him?

He huffed peevishly. “What do you want from me?”

“A number of things,” Dr. Buckner said, and tapped his pen against his clipboard again. “But to start, I’d like you to answer my question, which I’ll paraphrase for you again: what were you thinking?”

“I…” Robert shivered again, and held the blanket tighter around. “I needed t-to tell him… to see his face when I… because I w-wanted him to know it… what he did to my…” Another quaking shudder. “Please t-turn the air off. Please.”

Dr. Buckner ignored the plea and tipped his head to stare down his snout at him. “So, what I’m hearing here is that you needed to bludgeon another mammal with your words, to destroy his peace of mind, cause him deep and lasting mental damage, so _you_ could feel better about your own pain. Have I summed it up adequately?”

“He’s a s-savage!” Robert exploded. “All of them are! They should be t-tossed out of here!”

“A tenth of the city’s population should be removed from their homes and their jobs? That’s still your platform?”

“If it’ll keep my f-family safe from those predators, then yes!”

“Right, the primitive _predators_ are the dangerous ones,” Dr. Buckner said sardonically and rolled his eyes. “As I recall, _they_ were the ones that needed to be protected from _you_. If they were such a mindless, wild lot then you would have been in pieces long before you picked that flower up. Did you hear nothing that Dr. Leuca said in that session at all?”

The memory of the interfering panda flared Robert’s irritation. The doctor who never sought to understand the loss he suffered, the hell his family had gone through. The outsider who always sided with those lesser species, who never let him speak his mind. She wasn’t even _from_ here, who the hell was _she_ to tell him what to do?

“Rutting foreigner,” he muttered scornfully.

_Krickt!_

The pen that Dr. Buckner held suddenly snapped in half. Black ink oozed from the burst reservoir over his clenched hoof as tiny shards fell to the floor. Robert reeled back in shock; to him that sound held the same weight as a bombshell detonating, and yet there was no change in the doctor’s demeanor or expression. He didn’t even acknowledge the broken writing implement that he held for another few seconds, and when he finally did his reaction to it was one of apathetic inconvenience.

“Well, that’s a crying shame. I liked that pen.” Dr. Buckner dumped the shattered pieces into the wastebasket beside his desk casually. He dug his handkerchief from his pants pocket to wipe away the ink on his other hoof as he addressed the statement that had caused the subtle yet terrifying outburst. “That foreigner saved your life, at great personal expense. You will, at least in my presence, always speak of her with the utmost respect.”

Robert quailed. “Are you g-gonna kill me?”

“Don’t be absurd,” Dr. Buckner said, and waved his now clean hoof in dismissal as he stowed the handkerchief back in his pocket. “I’m a doctor. As always, all I’m looking to do today is help.”

“How is th-this helping?”

“Well, I’d say it’s helping someone.” Dr. Buckner tapped on the clipboard thoughtfully, and then asked, “Why there? You never cared for those sessions. Why did you have to take your vendetta to a place that was meant for healing, involve all those others?”

“Never leaves his house except… for N.I.T.E. s-sessions,” Robert said, his face focused with intense concentration on trying not to stutter his words through the cold. “And… and you said it would p-probably be the… last one…”

Dr. Buckner’s eyes flashed dangerously. “You took what I said to you and used it as a weapon to shock and injure an entire hall’s worth of mammals. Forcibly removed their support from them, their hope, you complete _swine_ …”

“Y-you hated that blasted program, too! Never… never did anything for us, did it? S-so what’s it matter to you?”

“It matters a great deal to me. You took a safe place and turned it into a horror show. Terrorized mammals that I _personally_ care about. My patients, my—”

 _Melanie._ He stopped, having very nearly said that, her name, as if she were ever something— _someone_ —more to him. Was she? What had she become?

“… my fellow doctor, fellow mammals, fellow Zootopians, who I work and live with and serve. You hurt them all over again—made the premeditated, conscious decision to re-traumatize them—and then you come here ready to justify your actions as if you were the one that had been victimized.”

“I lost my brother!” Robert shouted. “That m-mangy wolf killed him! He tore his rutting throat out!”

“That’s right, how could I forget?” Dr. Buckner said with a withering look. “Let’s talk about your brother, then. Trevor LeBoare, who violated an order of protection and trespassed on private property with the intent of inflicting physical violence against another mammal and was met with violence himself.” Dr. Buckner paused, folded his hooves under his chin, and asked, “Why did he do that, Bob?”

The furious, reddened face blanched as all the blood drained from it. “Wha…?”

“You spoke to him on a daily basis, didn’t you? You told me that was a big loss to you while he was incapacitated in the hospital, not being able to call him and talk to him each day. You discussed practically every savage attack with him just as soon as you learned of it, right? If anyone has any insight into what was going through his mind at the time, it’s you. So, I’ll ask again: why did he do that?”

The silence from Robert joined the silence of the rest of the room. His eye twitched.

“Did you know what he was thinking, Bob?”

More silence… and then a tiny whimper.

“Did you know that he was angry enough to take it out on his neighbor? Did you agree with him, encourage him, feed his aggression?”

Tears began to well in his eyes. “Stop it.”

“Maybe you suggested it, hmm? Something along the lines of ‘it’s us or them’? I know I’ve heard that phrase before. Was that the last thought Trevor had before he ran off half-cocked to his demise?”

Robert’s face twisted up in anguish. “Stop it, stop it, _STOP IT_!”

“You want to throw the blame on that wolf so badly, the _only_ mammal involved in that entire incident who had no control of his actions. Trevor’s death was written over the course of _decades_ , with every hateful word you fed into his ears. You taught your little brother the very doctrine that killed him.” Dr. Buckner paused and let that sink in as Robert folded forward, weeping. “Now you teach it to your children. Do you want them to meet the same ugly end? Because that’s the path you’ve set them on.”

The boar blubbered, heaving wails coming from his mouth. Tears streamed and immediately frosted on his cheeks. It was pathetic, and Dr. Buckner almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

“Luckily, it doesn’t have to stay like this. And I’m sure with a little hard work, we can find a way to fix this destructive attitude together.”

The reindeer took in a deep breath of the cold air and exhaled a foggy white puff. He picked a new pen from the cup on his desk.

“City Council meets tomorrow to decide the fate of the N.I.T.E. program. I will be there, which means that you had better not be.” He leaned far forward in his chair and narrowed his eyes. “If you show your face—if you bother any of those mammals again—I will set myself a personal goal to ensure that you regret it. Do you understand me?”

Robert whimpered pitiably, huddled further within the folds of the blanket, and nodded.

“Good. Now, let’s get back to our exercise. Where were we? Oh, yes.” Dr. Buckner tapped the pen tip against the paper. “Armadillo.”

*****

 _Un-bloody-believable._ Sadie bodily shoved the office door open, a precarious balancing act of supplies, take-out leftovers, and personal effects in her arms. The waiting room was empty, which was expected given that the afternoon appointments had been rescheduled. _What a monumental waste of my time._

She dumped the items in her arms onto the desk before they tumbled to the floor, then leaned against it with a heavy sigh. Sadie shrugged off her jacket and dug around in the pocket until her claws snagged the crumpled list of errands that Dr. Buckner had given her. She unfolded it and draped her coat over her chair, scanning down the page to ensure she hadn’t missed anything. She was fairly certain that she’d gotten it all; each completed task had been crossed out and a quick glance confirmed that it was now nothing but a page of scribbles. She was about to toss it when she noticed a little arrow at the bottom corner and her heart sank.

 _Oh, you have_ got _to be kidding me._

Resigned that she’d be heading back out to battle even more Downtown traffic, she turned the page over and read the single sentence scrawled on the back:

_Please open the door to my office._

Sadie read it, then read it again, and then once more, but no matter how many times her eyes played over those words the confusion didn’t pass. This wasn’t an errand, but a… polite request? What was it doing on the back of a honey-do list?

She looked up from the paper and down the hallway. It was silent, as usual. The little red light above Dr. Buckner’s office was lit, which meant he was with a patient…

 _But he shouldn’t be._ Sadie’s ears folded flat and she couldn’t help but wrinkle her nose. The smell was wrong. She couldn’t put her paw right on it, but there was something about the air that was… too heavy.

She dropped the puzzling paper into the wastebasket and slowly started down the hallway, keeping her eyes on the door as it loomed larger in front of her. Her breaths came quicker as she inhaled the scent of frost and winter; her toes curled from cold creeping over them. The door looked different and it took a second before Sadie realized what was off about it: the knob was on backwards. She wasn’t staring at the keyhole, but the latch. She put her head softly against the panel (pointless, the whole room was soundproofed), and recoiled from the frigid jolt against the bare skin in her ear.

With a trembling paw, Sadie popped the lock and turned the chilled knob. When the door opened, a shocking flood of icy air poured out of the room and rushed over her. She only saw Dr. Buckner at first, sitting in his armchair on the far-left side of the room, capping and uncapping the pen in his hooves as white puffs of breath rose from his snout. He pricked his ears when he noticed her watching from the doorway and his eyes crinkled at the corners with a bit of humor, though other than that his expression didn’t change.

“Is everything okay in here?” Sadie asked cautiously and suppressed a shiver. _What’s wrong with the climate control?_ “I noticed the door…”

She didn’t get any further before a bulky, shaking mass of pink and plaid rushed her from the couch. She shrieked in surprise as it surrounded her and her scream was smothered to a squeak when she realized that she was being embraced… by Robert LeBoare.

 _What in the nine hells is going on?!_ Sadie’s mind cried.

“Oh G-God, th-thank you, th-thank you…” the pig said, his quaking voice in her ear as his shivering body held her and thieved her warmth. “I d-didn’t th-think I’d ever g-get out of there…”

“It was a bit longer than anticipated, but I think we made excellent use of our time.” Dr. Buckner didn’t get up, but watched her uncomfortable situation with what looked like amusement. “If you’ll let Sadie down, Bob, I’m sure she’d be happy to get you your phone so you can head home.”

Sadie’s feet touched back down on the floor as Robert unwrapped himself from around her. “Yes, yes, please, would you?” he stammered, edging out around the doorframe and stumbling down the hall on apparently numb legs. He leaned against the wall for support until he reached the desk, then leaned against that for the same reason.

After a confused glance at Dr. Buckner, who still hadn’t moved except to nod her in the direction of the waiting room, Sadie followed in Robert’s wake to the desk. She unlocked the drawer that contained his cellphone, finally getting a good look at him. His face was flushed and etched with lines of frosted tears; snot streaks ran from his nostrils. Sadie would have laughed if he didn’t look so pathetic. She didn’t know what to do about his payment and didn’t want him there any longer, so she just stayed silent as he took his phone from her. He thanked her again and hurried out the door, nearly tripping over himself twice more before he was gone.

 _Alright, that rutting does it._ Sadie stalked to the entrance, deadbolted it, and turned the sign to “CLOSED” before heading with clear purpose back down the hallway to Dr. Buckner’s office for answers.

When she was again at the threshold, he wasn’t in his armchair anymore but standing over his desk with a decanter in one hoof and a tumbler in the other. He’d barely finished pouring the amber liquid before throwing it back down his throat. He coughed lightly just once, and then started to pour himself another. The caustic scent of spirits assaulted Sadie’s nose.

“Are you _drinking_?” she demanded.

“If you were stuck in a room with that piece of work for hours, you’d be driven to drink, also,” he said, and knocked back the next enormous shot also. He swished the decanter around a little and added, “Where are my manners? That must have been awful for you. Did you want one?”

“It’s barely three o’clock!”

“Is that all?” Dr. Buckner said, his brow knitting in uncertainty. “I’d have sworn it was much later… guess my little temporal illusion worked a bit too well. I take it that’s probably a ‘no,’ then. No matter… not exactly a stranger to drinking alone.”

Sadie stared with mouth agape as Dr. Buckner actually poured yet another glass of alcohol and set the stopper back on the bottle. This one he didn’t slam down like the others, but sipped it slowly before turning to face her. She couldn’t see his breath anymore now that the accumulated air-conditioning had started to seep out into the hallway, but she thought he sounded winded. While he usually had a distinguished appearance, at the moment he just looked haggard and old.

Her face softened as she watched Dr. Buckner ease himself onto the couch and lean his head back wearily. His antlers scuffed the wall behind him as he loosened his tie, but if he noticed it he didn’t seem to care.

“You were marvelous, by the way,” he said, raising his glass at Sadie and then taking a swig from it. Her breath caught; it sounded like he was appraising her, and while it didn’t sound like a _bad_ appraisal, it was unnerving that she didn’t understand what exactly she was being appraised on.

“What do you mean?” she asked, inching around the blanket that Robert had thrown to the floor as she stepped further inside his office. “What just happened? Why was he still here? What happened to the door? What—?”

“Wait, wait, wait, one at a time,” Dr. Buckner interrupted her and rubbed his temple. “I’m not going to be able to keep up this pace.”

_Great… now I get to deal with an insufferable drunk today, also. Peachy._

Sadie sucked in a deep breath and tried to assume a voice that sounded at least half as annoyed as she actually felt. “What happened in here?”

Dr. Buckner stared into the glass, tipping it back and forth between his hooves as he answered. “Robert had a session that I’m certain he won’t soon forget. In a place and a time resting right at the edge of what he could mentally endure, he had to address and attempt to defend each and every one of his preconceptions. Difficult thing to do under the best of circumstances, and a debate against me is not the best of circumstances. And at the end of what was probably the most uncomfortable position he has ever been in, his savior, his salvation… was a predator. Was you.” He took another sip of his drink. “I imagine that will butt up against his current mindset for some time, but he’ll start associating that feeling of relief and hope with mammals that he previously found base and below him. There won’t be a way to resolve that until he accepts the association. I anticipate some soul searching for him. About time.”

Her bobbed tail twitched uneasily. “The climate control? The door?”

“Silly old bull, I guess I accidentally installed the hardware wrong. Whoops.” He chuckled and looked at her with bleary eyes that were starting to lose their focus. “Unfortunate that he locked us in while the AC was on the fritz.”

Sadie stared at him, aghast. “Did… did you just deliberately traumatize him?”

Dr. Buckner shrugged. “I’d much rather think of it as psychological reconditioning.”

She shivered; she wasn’t entirely sure if it was because of the cold anymore. “I’m no fan of that pig, but I… I really don’t know how I feel about this.”

“Which is why you’re a better mammal than I am.” He drained his glass and set it on the floor. He didn’t sit back up, but instead laid down on the couch and put his feet up on the cushions. Dr. Buckner tossed his glasses on the seat of his chair and threw an arm over his closed eyes. “I regret nothing. I’d do it again.”

“Why? Why do it at all?”

 _For them. For you. For her._ “Because there’s too much bad blood. This predator/prey nonsense… it has to stop. And I’m starting to realize that mammals like you aren’t in a position to make it stop. Mammals like me are. Why shouldn’t I try and do something about it?” Dr. Buckner’s ears drooped. “Mostly, though… I think I was just angry.” He waved his hoof in Sadie’s general direction. “Shouldn’t have told you any of this. Forget I said anything.”

 _Right, like that’s gonna happen_. There was zero chance of Sadie forgetting this conversation, that was for sure. She wondered how much of it he was going to remember, though, and then a thought struck her. It was a bit shameful, and she couldn’t believe that she was even considering it, but with what _he’d_ just admitted to, it didn’t seem all that bad by comparison. Why shouldn’t she ask?

“Doctor?”

“Vincent.”

She bristled at his strange response. “What?”

“I’d like to hear my name more. Keep hiding behind ‘doctor’ like that title makes me better. Been working together for more than ten years… I can just be ‘Vincent’ with you at this point, can’t I?”

 _Oookay…_ Sadie placed her question on hold and twitched her ears, wondering at the sudden change in behavior that she was witnessing from her boss. Heaven only knew what had caused it, and while it was in its own way kind of endearing, she also couldn’t help but consider it a possible medical emergency. How many mental collapses were preceded by such radical personality shifts as she was currently seeing?

She edged a little closer to the desk and the phone as she asked, “Are you having some kind of breakdown? Should I call somebody?”

“Not necessary,” he murmured. “The alcohol notwithstanding, I assure you that I have never been more lucid. Although,” he added, pointing vaguely toward the phone that Sadie was reaching for, “if you could please find me the number for a good malpractice attorney, that would be splendid. Might as well have painted a target on myself for a lawsuit.”

 _Yeah, that’s definitely still him._ _Doesn’t seem like a psychotic break._ Sadie drew her paw back and said, “Alright, I can do that.” She leaned against the desk and wrestled with herself back and forth before returning to her original thought. The opportunity couldn’t be wasted.

She ran her tongue over her lips. “Vincent?”

“Hmm?”

“There’s something I’ve wanted to know… to ask you for a long while…”

“And now would be the time to ask it.” He lifted his arm from over his face an inch and cracked an eye at her as the teeniest smile creeped over his snout. “Taking advantage of an intoxicated mammal. For shame.”

A hot blush spread into her ears, but she wasn’t about to be deterred. “Well, I think I have a right to know, so I’m asking anyway. Last year, with the whole nighthowler mess… why didn’t you replace me?”

It was a sore subject, one that still impacted many predators that she knew even a year later. So many were dismissed from positions that they’d held for years—jobs in sales and customer service and fields that dealt with maintaining mammals’ security. Positions like hers, that she had dreaded every day that she would be released from, simply because having a predator in such a role was suddenly bad for business or a safety concern. The job that Sadie, miraculously, still had.

“We don’t really get on, and that would have been the time to do it, right?” she continued, and scratched lightly at the side of the desk. “Friends of mine lost their jobs or were reassigned or demoted. And for so long I’ve wondered: why didn’t I, also?”

Vincent put his arm back down with a grimace. “It wasn’t out of the goodness of my heart.”

“I wasn’t aware you had one of those,” Sadie said carelessly, and then bit her tongue hard enough to draw blood. That was probably the line that she’d just crossed.

But he laughed. All this time she was funny; what a waste, all those years he didn’t even bother to notice. “Ouch. Talk about savage. I’ll remember that.”

Sadie’s ears perked; she could get used to this side of her boss. “No, you won’t.”

“No, I probably won’t.”

She waited a few seconds before pressing him again. “I still want to know why.”

“Simple ineptitude,” Vincent said with a shrug. “I couldn’t figure out _how_ to replace you without inconveniencing myself. Thought if I ended up with a crazed bobcat in my practice I would cross that bridge when I came to it. Maybe sit on you. That’s all. No noble sentiment, no altruistic gesture. Just ended up doing the right thing for the wrong reason.”

 _Well, that’s… disappointing?_ She didn’t know what she had expected, really, but it wasn’t that. Still, the fact that he’d just admitted those things to her was itself telling. Sadie hoped that this new attitude of his wouldn’t disappear with tomorrow’s hangover.

“I suppose I’ll say ‘thank you’ anyway,” she said thickly as she started to leave. “For being honest.”

Sadie was nearly out the door when she heard Vincent say, “My turn.”

Her heart took a little tumble. “For what?”

“At the end of the day, I’m a selfish, arrogant, critical mammal.” His words were starting to trip over each other, skittering over the gravel in his voice. “I haven’t been kind to you, yet I couldn’t run this office without you. You know this, I’m sure. You have every reason and ample opportunity to leverage that, make my life difficult. You never do. Why don’t you?”

“Why would I?” Sadie retorted. “I’ve been working here since I left school. This office knew me years before it ever saw you, and I take pride in keeping it running well. Should I do my work halfway now just out of petty spite? To hurt your patients? To sabotage myself out of my job?”

“Ah, there it is. I didn’t inspire loyalty in you. I extorted it out of your fear of losing your employment. That’s reprehensible.” He heaved a deep sigh and clenched his hooves. “I’ve been an absolute scoundrel. You deserve a better boss.”

The room fell to quiet and Vincent peeked out again to see if maybe she had just walked out on him; he wouldn’t have blamed her. Instead, through blurry vision he watched Sadie pad silently over to his chair, pick up his glasses, and set them on the desk out of the way of possible danger. Then, she took the blanket from the floor and laid it over him.

“Strangely,” she said, “somehow I think that I just got one.”

Vincent closed his eyes as relief ran through him, bringing with it all the exhaustion that he’d been warding off since he put his head down. “Whatever I’m paying you isn’t enough.”

“It really isn’t,” Sadie agreed, climbing up on the computer chair to turn off his desk lamp. “But we can discuss that tomorrow when you’re good and sober.”

“Let’s.”

She closed the blinds and turned off the computer monitor for a little additional darkness, then started toward the door. “Should I wake you when I’m leaving, then?”

Sadie turned her ears in the direction of the anticipated response, but Vincent didn’t reply. The only sound that she heard was steady, rhythmic breathing. While she was by no means a sappy mammal, she had to put a paw to her mouth to stifle a little mew.

Prey almost never fell asleep in the presence of a predator. That is, not unless it was one that they trusted completely.

Sadie checked the door twice to make certain it was unlocked and closed it behind her without another word. ~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, guys, listen... _listen_ , can I just tell you... drunk!Vincent is my new favorite thing ever. XD
> 
> So, for anyone who thought that Robert got off too easy, well... his comeuppance was a dish that required some very particular preparation and was always going to be served cold. XD
> 
> Alright! The stage is set, all the players have their scripts, and the heckler has been tossed from the theater. ONWARD! :D
> 
> Thoughts, comments, queries, conundrums? You know what to do!


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